


To Choke the Stars

by Anonymous



Category: Warhammer 40.000
Genre: AU, F/F, F/M, Isekai, LitRPG, Multi, Not underage in all jurisdictions, Pseudo-Isekai, WH Rogue Trader - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-12
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:34:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 164,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27526954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Young Tristain, Navis Nobilite of House Cassini, has just awakened memories of a past life upon the activation of strange archeotech.  One life remembers buying it, but this life remembers being given the device as a wedding gift not long ago when he wed his arranged partner and childhood friend Marcella.  The device provides many advantages in this war-torn galaxy, and nearly as many dangers from both friend and foe.  It could change the fate of the Imperium...  If only the subsidiary devices were produced faster.  Instead the full capabilities must remain secret to avoid civil war at best.
Comments: 263
Kudos: 155
Collections: Anonymous





	1. Arrival

**Author's Note:**

> This work was originally inspired by a CYOA on Questionable Questing, and was posted in the creative writing forum there. A number of maniacal zealots for said CYOA insisted on a very frequent basis that this work was incorrect, due to said CYOA having been updated _after_ the start of writing. When events blew up, one of the mods declared that the next person to bring the topic up again would get a threadban. Instead, the very next time someone brought it up, the punishments were leveled at the author instead. As the staff of QQ has made it very clear that the work is not welcome on their site, I have withdrawn it from publication there. However, there are a number of people who still want to read it, so I'm bringing it here instead.
> 
> Note for the 40K fans: I am basing the Navigator powers off of the Rogue Trader RPG line. I'm not rolling dice for the characters, but when it comes to what kinds of things they can do with the Warp Eye, that's the source I'm using. Likewise for the personal scale combat capabilities of others, I'm not rolling dice most of the time, but don't expect distributions of results that look like they came from d6's. ;)

**Segmentum Obscurus  
Calixis Sector  
Malfean Subsector  
Agriworld Bilani - Low Orbit  
7.087.736M41**

Suddenly waking up in someone else's body is _tremendously_ jarring, even if it comes with the memories of having lived in said body for sixteen years. The weight of my clothing is far heavier than it was and wasn't a moment ago, and I nearly stumble before catching myself, clenching my eyes shut as I pause a moment… All three of them. It's a bit of a head-trip, I remember having three eyes all my life, I remember having only two for even longer. One hand wanders up to grab at the Rosarius hanging from my neck instinctively, a prayer to The Emperor on my lips. It's one I've never uttered before, it's one I've uttered countless times before.

As my hand grasps the pendant, time seems to freeze, my movement freezing as well, as a holotank appears before my closed eyes, the display showing a rotating holo of my body/not my body. To one side are sliders upon sliders upon sliders, to the other what looks for all the world like a Rogue Trader character sheet. NAVIGATOR it says. It doesn't make sense from either life, and yet it makes perfect sense. This is what I bought. The pendant, it's my smart device and my first 'Choker', set up to interact with the augmentics I already have for connecting to a ship.

"Art thou well Tristain?" A gentle hand on my shoulder accompanies the soft voice. I recognize the total stranger, Marcella Cassini, my cousin and my recent bride. It's news to me both new and old. Her choker is tight against her neck, The Diamond at her throat glinting beautifully in the light of the ship's corridor. Her two flesh eyes are looking up at me with concern, their green hue matching with the green of her dress. Both of us are bare-faced, not yet mutated enough to warrant covering up, and suddenly I've known for a while we never will be.

"I'm fine 'Cella. I just- caught a glimpse of something disconcerting. I'm surprised you didn't see it, with how it shone even through my eyelid." I wave it off. Sure, I know know the choker she wears means she would drop it if I said the word, but we have bodyguards I need to consider as well. I need to get chokers on them too, the memories I suddenly possess telling me why I chose the most restrictive binding. Here, in this universe, in this galaxy, I really _do_ need obedience above all else. Because loyalty? Loyalty can be subverted. All it takes is some daemon _convincing_ one of my bound that chaos is the way to go, and their _loyalty_ will have them working to turn me too. For my own good of course. No available defense actually protects against simple argument either. Mind Defense means they can't be _forced_ to change their mind, Soul Defense means their very selves can't be changed forcibly. But somehow I don't see that stopping _Tzeench_ from simply talking someone into it, and all it takes is one to start the fall.

Marcella giggles lightly. "You know you see deeper while I see broader." Standing up on her toes, she kisses the corner of my lips, then remains on tiptoe with expectant eyes. Smiling, I turn my head to return the kiss. I may only have met her a minute ago, but I've also known her for years, knowing that the genetors had declared us an ideal match. "Come, let us attempt to get Novator Cassini off our backs." She suggests cheerfully, grabbing both my hands and starting to walk backwards, pulling me in the general direction of the navigator's quarters. It both is and isn't the ideal place, as while we have some privacy there, the senior navigators of the Writ of Surplus always laugh when they watch her acting this thirsty.

The guards know better.

"Calm yourself.-" Oh wow that works fast… I'm going to have to figure out how to make it a little softer so people don't get suspicious. "-I've already seen to you this morn, but now I must practice with my weapons, as must you, against the day we may be boarded." Marcella pouts but reverses direction and follows along at my side on the way to the firing range in the mid-decks.

It's a bit strange, to remember how I came to have what I can now see as numbers on a page. As Homo-Navis go, I'm actually not _that_ great at navigation itself. Above average, but not gifted. The almost complete lack of other mutations would be easily enough to forgive that on its own, but I _am_ gifted in other arts. Arts much more useful to personal scale combat. It's part of why I was arranged to wed 'Cella, she's not quite as pure of gene, but as she said, she sees far while I see deep. Seek the Path and Eye of Oblivion; Aether Doldrums and Held in my Gaze; These come easily to me, but the more traditional arts of guiding a ship through the warp have always been more difficult.

Well, maybe now that I've… rejoined myself? Possessed this promising young navigator? Woken up after being inserted at the beginning of his life? The exact mechanism behind the choices I remember being given is not one I understand. I remember thinking things were missing, thinking there should have been a way to leave the Milky Way? To escape the eternal war? But no, those memories from M3 are clearly wrong, there's no way out, only forward and through. But they must be? Because the Tempest Chokers are here, they're real. I remember more life from before then than after.

As we come to a halt outside the door to the firing range, I can hear the sharp cracks of las-fire superheating the air on the way to the target. It's faint, but barely audible even through the armored door. It shouldn't be. Hitting the door release, I find that the noise level inside is… normal. The cracking noises sound exactly as they should, and a hundred meters distant I can see the targets glowing briefly with the hits, before the plasteel dissipates the heat.

Heading over to one of the firing booths, I set down my hellpistol and make another mental note to see about a sufficiently high-quality plasma pistol that I don't have to worry about overheat. Quickly field-stripping the piece, I murmur the prayers of cleansing, the minor rite of repair that's all the Mechanicus will share with the common man, even the Navis Nobilite. Perhaps the houses which directly serve them are permitted more, but at least _now_ I can see the why of most of the ritual. The blessed grease applied to the heat sink is thermal compound; the connectors need to be clean so the seals don't degrade; the set-screws adjusted to bring the chambers into perfect alignment are because it's necessary for the optics to line up exactly right for the lasing chamber to _lase_.

I don't understand all of it of course, M41 layperson knowledge, combined with M3 engineer-with-a-different-discipline knowledge fills many gaps, but not all of them. That's fine I suppose, but I'd much prefer to be capable of _all_ the necessary maintenance for my weapon. As I finish reassembling the weapon and connecting the power pack, I take a deep breath before raising the weapon. Closing my eyes I open my eye, and line up the sights in the baleful glow that pours forth. Downrange I can see the flaws in the plasteel targets, the places where any slight defect might lurk. It's not quite Shiki's eyes, but the comparison is valid. Pouring a little more power forth from my third eye, I pull the trigger and watch as the beam of not-quite-material laser energy strikes the target.

If any normal trainer were judging me it would have gotten a low score for being fifteen centimeters away from the bullseye. But a second later the target shatters as the warp energy infused into the lasbolt spreads along the defect and warps the structure, finally causing it to fail outright.

"Woo! Pay up!" I hear one of the ship's security ratings call to her buddies.

"Were you betting on me?" I call out, causing a sudden silence on the range.

"Ah… Yes my lord?" There's a nervous tension in the words.

"Well, I guess they better pay up. Seems a just penalty for doubting me."

"Yes my lord!"

"In the future, I want the rake if you continue that habit."

"Yes my lord." I have the urge to go collar the woman who was betting in my favor. The Choker might rob her of much of her free will, but I can keep a light hand, and I _know_ what happens to souls after death in this galaxy. I can literally see it happening from here, see down into the depths where the countless daemons wandering the warp have dragged their prey to feast. It's not a pretty way to go, a long eternity of torturous suffering before simply ceasing to exist if you're lucky, or ending up as _part_ of one of those things if you're not.

I remember that being why I picked _this_ universe, though I'm not clear on what the other choices were just now. Here's a place where eternal slavery to man is far far _far_ better than the other option.

I will _never_ have enough collars, but they were the only option that can guarantee none of my bonded fall to chaos, or worse, take me with them.

For right now though, it's time to practice marksmanship.

Unfortunately the Writ of Surplus doesn't have anyone aboard qualified to teach marksmanship as Navigators can practice it. Certainly, we can learn to do it as any human can, we have the same pair of flesh eyes with which to use the sights, but the Warp Eye sees so much better that there's little reason to choose that path. After all, if you're shooting at someone, you likely don't care about the ill effects a little exposure to the filtered light of the Empyrian might have upon them. The marksmanship instructor for the ship's security compliment can't even correct my stance, since I have to hold the gun a handful of centimeters higher than standard for it to line up.

On the other hand, once I've discharged my first power pack, it gives me an excuse to cozy up to Marcella in her shooting booth. Sliding my hands up her sides, down her shoulders, and out to her wrists I prod her hands into a slightly different grip. She shivers and leans back against me, trying to obtain more body contact. With a quiet laugh, I whisper a scolding in her ear. "Not the place my dear. Just take all that desire and bottle it up for later. Feel the temptation, acknowledge it, and then resist. Maintain proper decorum." She shivers in my arms, swallows a couple times, and then takes a deep breath before letting it out. The order to behave herself overrides her desires for the moment, but Sticky Fingers is telling me that's only making it worse. With a grin, I proceed to be absolutely no help at all on that front, while being very helpful on the actual _marksmanship_ front.

Adjusting her hands, I hold them steady with one of mine and use the other to cover her flesh eyes. My little bride learned it the wrong way to begin with, consequences of our losses at the hands of that Chorda bitch. There simply aren't many of our parents generation who know the techniques, and so Marcella learned from a guardswoman. Her technique works, she can hit the target, but she can't back the shots with the light of the warp.

It's hard to be angry with her in my arms, so even the surge of hatred directed at a certain Rogue Trader doesn't distract me for long. She's just finished pouting about having her eyes covered by then, and ready to take the shot. "Focus." I command, and she does. Opening her warp eye, she sights down the barrel and gently squeezes the firing stud. *Krack* There's no half-real quality to the beam, I haven't even started teaching her that, but it's near the center. "Good." I whisper in her ear. "Again." I can smell her arousal rising with my proximity, my whispers in her ear have my lips brushing against the edge, my hands on hers keep finding places that send sparks up her arms. It's not the adrenaline of life-and-death, but it still gets her heart rate and adrenaline up, sets her hands shaking, and generally makes marksmanship difficult in mostly the same ways as actual combat.

Just, you know, _nicer_ . Even if she is left a dripping mess at the end.  
…  
…

After marksmanship practice, I drag her along to the observation deck, where we can sit and gaze out over the planet below, watching the cargo shuttles ferrying… Grain? I think? Food for a colony out in the expanse, a world with little ability to grow its own. We also have an excellent view of the Swift Hound and the Drusus's Bootknife, two of the frigates escorting the large cargo ship we're currently aboard. There shouldn't be any real risk of piracy, not with bulk food, but there _is_ a real risk of Chorda launching a raid on Winterscale's shipping, simply to starve out one of his mining colonies.

"Agriworlds look so boring from orbit." Matter of opinion really, but I can see her complaint. You can _see_ the rectangular partitions from here, the orchards hundreds of kilometers across next to fields of grain even larger. Blocky shapes writ in different crops, bundled together for efficient harvest and efficient use of weather manipulation technology.

"They look boring from the ground too, or so I'm told." I answer, and while that much is true, I also remember seeing fields of grain from ground level, fields that stretched over the horizon in every direction save for the paved road cutting through. "But I'm glad they exist, else it would be quite difficult to feed the rest of the Emperor's people."

"Yeah." Her answer is a little distracted, and I can't blame her with the arousal pouring off of her. If not for the various defenses in that collar I'm sure we'd be seeing various gribblies swimming up from the depths in hopes of getting a nibble. As is, a quick glance into the warp shows things being relatively calm for the moment. With my arm wrapped around her waist, I let my fingers wander over her stomach for a bit, aimlessly teasing her while she's still forced to keep her desire under wraps.

At the same time my other hand grasps my pendant, choker, smart device, and character sheet in one. The display appears to my eyes again, and I look over the available options. There's a selection menu with only two options in it at the moment, myself or Marcella. Switching over to her, I blanch a little and start searching through the menu for… Ah, there it is, set sliders to current value. I have no desire for my petite companion to have tits the size of her head, or hips as wide as my shoulders. I'm going to have to look for the defaults on those, _mine_ were set just fine, but I suspect as the controller I get different defaults.

I might smirk a little as I adjust a few settings for both of us, also turning down the rate of change to make things less suspicious. I'm still at an age where getting a little bigger naturally is to be expected, and she's going to be doing kegels… They'll just work better than they should. With our basic forms preserved and improved, I continue exploring the menu with her cuddled up against my side.

There's a navigator specific menu for both of us, among other things it contains the sliders specific to the Warp Eye, but there's also what looks like an allow-list for navigator mutations. Both are empty at the moment, but as much as I like the idea of _leaving_ them that way, it'd look odd if we were both mutation free. My plans for the future require that I remain 'pure', so I'll have to approve at least a few for her.

I already love her green eyes, but Eyes Dark as the Void is barely a mutation. Regeneration is also on the list, and after a moment of thought I approve _that_ one for both of us. Likewise for the spread of Unnatural <Attribute> (x2) traits. Those don't alter appearance, so they're almost purely beneficial. Strange Joints makes it onto her list as well, somehow I don't think I'll mind if she ends up a contortionist.

With the changes I want for now done, I just sit there with her for a while, enjoying the view and the scent wafting off of her as I tease. Her slight squirming and whimpering that makes it past the order to maintain decorum is all the hotter for it.

The  _ moment _ the door shuts on the Navigator's quarters, and 'proper decorum' no longer means she has to hide her thirst, Marcella promptly jumps me right there in the antechamber. Hopping up to wrap her legs around me while her arms snake around my neck to demand a passionate kiss. "Mmph!" I exclaim against her lips, momentarily taken aback before returning the gesture, extending my tongue to play with hers while my hands grab her butt.

Unsurprisingly there's laughter from further in, one of our senior family members chuckling at her eagerness and enthusiasm. Much as I enjoy it too, I could do without being laughed at. Grabbing her long coppery hair, I use it as a handhold to pull her away a little so I can get a few words in edgewise. "We really should take this to our room." She pouts and latches on tighter. I could order her off, but instead I just carry her through the main hall and into our room, rolling my eyes at Aunt Silvea on the way past. She just laughs harder, which is both completely normal and utterly creepy according to my clashing sets of memories. Her needle-teeth are on full display with her laughter, all three rows of them, and I'm glad Marcella will never have chompers like  _ that _ .

There's no need to shut the door behind me, not with Marcella kicking a leg out to boot it shut without letting go of me. "Someone's needy."

"You have been taunting me for three hours." She nearly growls, her scent filling my nose now that we're stationary again. I just smile, and get the side of my neck bit for my trouble. It also gets licked, kissed, suckled, and generally molested by her mouth. Returning the favor, I lean my head in and begin to feast on the side of her neck, glad that I too will never have to worry about ripping holes in her while doing this. Somehow, the thought that it  _ could _ have been a problem just makes it all the more enjoyable now, and soon I have a livid mark rising to the surface where it's going to be visible to all and sundry when next we leave our quarters. Oh well.

Once she releases my neck as well, I look her in the eyes, grin, and heave her across the room as she shrieks before landing and bouncing on our bed. "Trist!" By the time she manages to struggle free of her tangled skirts, I've managed to undo my trousers and unbutton my shirt. My coat and holster are laying in a pile by the door, but the help can take care of it later. Shoving my pants the rest of the way down my legs, I leap after my wife to land with my hands to either side of her and my knees between hers, looking down with a grin as we both bounce with the impact on the bed. I remember being older, and being able to do things like this without worrying is amazing, the prospect of never aging in an unwanted manner is incredible, even juvenat fails eventually.

Grinning impishly, I lay down atop her with her dress still very much in the way of what she wants, the skirts she flipped down to glare at me now trapped between us. "So, you may have noticed I figured out a new trick with these archaeotech necklaces." I speak quietly. She narrows her eyes and nods in answer. "I can't use Seek the Path or Eye of Oblivion on you without overriding the new setting." That causes her eyes to widen. "Which means our enemies can't either. The ability to order you around is a nice bonus." And now they narrow again. "But I wonder, can I order you to do something you normally couldn't? Say… What if I ordered you to climax for me? On your own, I doubt you can attain release without stimulation."

She gulps when my smile grows. "So, cum for me.  _ Hard _ ." Her jaw drops and her eyes roll back before clenching shut. Her back arches against my weight atop her and her hands curl into fists while she shudders with pleasure, a squeal escaping from her throat while she tries to wrap her mind around what just happened. Her lithe body writhing beneath me is an absolute joy, though I seriously need relief myself after this. Holding her tight while her body is wracked with pleasure, I let her ride it out before releasing my grip and just laying atop her while she tries to catch her breath. My weight makes it more difficult, but she likes the feeling anyway.

"Bastard."

"You looked like you were enjoying yourself." Kissing the tip of her nose, I roll to the side and drag her skirt up around her middle, needing to repeat the action to get the floor-length dress out of the way so I can roll back on top of her. The full skirts conspire to act as a pillow between us, rather in-the-way, but a bit exciting in their own way. There's something about just flipping up a girl's dress to gain access, particularly when she's thirsty enough that she didn't put any panties on this morning.

Taking myself in hand, I find that the slider I changed has already made a small but noticeable difference. Marcella was never left wanting before, and now there's just a little bit more. Looking down, I notice she's managed to soak the back of her petticoats with that command-orgasm, and I consider whether I could order her to maintain decorum while climaxing in public. Thoughts for later, for now I line myself up and start pressing forward. She's a little bit tighter now too, though how much is her and how much is me is hard to tell. Hot and slick and so very responsive. She moans passionately and her legs sweep around me to pull me closer, dragging me deeper into her greedy depths. Her arms wrap around my back, and her fingernails start drawing red lines here and there, something she doesn't normally start until… Actually, for her this  _ is _ round two.

Letting her have the moment of stretched satisfaction, I enjoy her quivering depths while waiting for her legs to let go. Then I start thrusting, long and hard, slow at first but speeding up as more of her juices soak into my skin and make everything even slicker. Soon enough she's howling like some primal animal, loud cries for more mixed with biting my shoulder to silence herself as she clenches down around me, her new tighter pussy providing astonishing stimulation when she does that.

The room flickers with Empyreal light as her eyes roll around, her third eye blinking open uncontrolled now and again as I drive all coherency from her head. Her coppery hair flies this way and that with the shaking of her head, and when she arches her back I regret leaving her in the dress a little bit, since her tits remain covered. My hands on her hips leave slight bruises that I'm sure she'll be smiling about when they rise from her pale skin. She's on a hair trigger, but I can't claim to be  _ that _ much better. It's only a few minutes before I'm flooding her womb, my seed searching out her egg in the hopes of new life.

As I collapse atop her, my mind is a jumble. On the one hand, I'm not ready for kids. On the other, we  _ really _ need the numbers… and she'll look  _ adorable  _ with a bump. Snuggling against her, I tap my pendant and bring up the menu, flicking the setting for fertility calibration all the way up, making sure she catches this time. Or, well, at least sometime in the next half-dozen, because those are all going to be this hour. I can already feel myself hardening again, and she's starting to nibble on my ear.

Marcella's dress is probably a total loss, between the tears and the stains… Yeah, maybe the help can get it clean, but the lace is a loss. She reeks of sex and exhaustion, a heady aroma that calls attention to the sloppy mess between her thighs. Cranking up my volume to go with the fertility boost might not have been the  _ best _ idea, but damn if it wasn't fun. She seems rather content with the world right now too, just smiling with her eyes closed while I lay next to her, head propped up on one hand while the other plays over her now-exposed skin. I'm not trying to wind her up anymore, instead aiming to relax. There's just something satisfying about cuddling with a thoroughly seeded girl… at least when you're the one who did it.

"If I didn't catch after  _ that _ , we might need a chirugeon." She murmurs tiredly.

I laugh and pull one of her hands up to kiss. "It's possible we missed your cycle."

"I've been keeping track."

"Ah." I kiss her hand again, this time twisting it around partway so I can kiss her palm. "Shall we go bathe? Perhaps don new attire?"

"Yes." When I let go of her hand she tries to get up on her own, only for her legs to collapse the moment she relies on them. "Stop laughing!" She cries out indignantly, but I can't. "This is  _ your fault _ !" Still laughing, I stand up and bend down to help, pulling her into my arms and lifting her off the ground.

"You are  _ absolutely gorgeous _ like this my dear."

"Shut up."

"Cum for me, silently." Her eyes widen at the instruction, but there's nothing she can do to stop the pleasure washing over her one more time. Her body shuddering exhaustedly in my arms, and her clenching squeezing out a few dollops of my seed to splat on the rug.

When it's over she's left panting even more than before, and her head flops over to rest against my shoulder. "You're going to abuse that, I can see it now."

"Oh, probably, but you're going to live a life of pleasure. Is that really so bad?"

"No."

For reasons that escape me, the navigator's quarters contain a shared bath in the roman style. Not that anyone would know to call it that anymore, but there it is. The water flows relatively quickly from one side to the other, passing through some form of advanced filtering system before emerging from the side with the jets again. Considering the appearance of any navigator who's been at the job for a long time, the choice to share bathing facilities is  _ bizarre _ at best. As I carry Marcella out into the ornately tiled room, I'm taken aback to find Aunt Silvia waiting for us with a look of mischief on her face. Fortunately her body is mostly hidden beneath a mound of bubbles, so I don't have to see what other mutations she might have. The toothy grin doesn't help at all however, as accustomed to it as one side of my memories might be. "I see you've been doing your duty." she teases. "Perhaps even going above and beyond."

"Silence please." Marcella requests, but to no avail.

"No, I don't think I will. The two of you are far too amusing for that." She sighs wistfully. "I remember when Graig was so eager all the time, before the changes took his capacity. He's still the man I learned to love, but I have to settle for his tongue."

Knowing full well what Uncle Graig looks like, the image turns my stomach, and 'Cella's as well apparently judging from how she's turning green around the gills. "We  _ really _ did not require the image you conjure." She just laughs and leans back against some of the jets, letting her head fall back to rest on the side of the bath.

"Enjoy your forms while they last children, they never last long enough." As far as  _ she _ knows… I wonder if the collars can reverse the mutations?

Settling down in the hot water with Marcella, I start gently washing her off while she snuggles against me. I discover that I must be quite gentle indeed with her lower lips, they're very sore, and possibly even a little bruised. I'd feel bad about it if she hadn't been screaming for more when I'm pretty sure it happened. The hot water stinging the weals she carved into my back with her fingernails reminds me she also gave as good as she got. A sudden hissing sound causes me to pause, looking at her face and finding it particularly scrunched up with one of my fingers slid inside her. She's incredibly tender, hyper sensitive and slightly abraded even with the amount of lubrication she produced.

"Any word on our departure?" I ask, simply cuddling my wife for the moment since she's too tender for more.

"A day, a week, what does it matter when we reach the warp?" Silvia answers. "Thirty days to enter once we depart, then many months to our destination."

…

…

Marcella is still limping and biting her lip when we visit the bridge a while later. To the great amusement of the security troops stationed there. Her replacement dress is a deep blue, with full skirts that are quite pretty but also do an okay job of hiding her legs and just how much she's limping. I'm not sure why she wanted to come up here right now, but I didn't feel like objecting or leaving her alone, so here I am acting like a crutch. Oh, right, I'm here because she's been pressed against me the whole way.

Captain Vanessa Thorn, likely one of Calligos Winterscale's booty calls occasionally, has a truly severe case of resting-bitch-face, made up for by a brilliant smile rarely seen. She's lounging on the captain's throne looking somewhat bored at the moment, everyone under her doing their jobs with nothing exciting happening to call for someone more important.

"Shuttle ZP-Gamma-Two unloaded, returning to the surface." One of the officers calls out, sounding similarly bored. If I remember correctly the station here isn't even the one handling that traffic, there's one up in the ceiling of the hangar bay that handles the traffic directly.

"Riveting." I remark quietly, and while I'm pretty sure it was too quiet for her to hear my actual words, the captain looks over with her perpetual scowl.

"Ah, the Cassini children. What brings you here?"

"I'm not sure." Looking down at Marcella, I gesture to the captain.

"Just watching. Learning how the bridge moves." She continues leaning against me, watching the crew go about their business. We've been aboard for a while, but the way the bridge moves  _ is _ different in every situation. Probably every bridge too, and knowing the flow can be important when things suddenly change.

With my lovely wife leaning against me, I joke "Apparently I'm here as her furniture." Any sting the words might have had is blunted by my arm around her. "What's the schedule look like?

"We're a third loaded. Emperor willing, another two days."

Making the sign of the Aquila with one hand isn't really possible, but 'Cella has a free hand too. Completing the gesture with a loved one is considered obnoxiously sappy for some reason, but that's fine, it makes her happy.

"Unf! Hnnn! Mmmmnngg… ahhh- Oh! Oh! OHHhhhh..." It's the muffled squeaking as much as the bed shaking that wakes me the next morning. Smiling, I roll toward the disturbance and fling an arm around her, holding her tight as the order I gave last night plays out. The one to climax upon awakening, quietly but not silently. Definitely the best alarm clock I've ever experienced. It only lasts a handful of seconds after I wake myself, but it's enough time for me to pull her into a good morning hug.

"So, best way to wake up?" I ask, kissing her before she has a chance to answer. I vaguely remember good morning kisses being nice but full of morning breath, but in this life I've never had that problem personally, on either side. Rubbing my fingers into her scalp, I make a point of leaving her a melted relaxed puddle on the bed before getting up. There's… Well, not actually that much to do today. More time at the range, some history lessons with Uncle Graig, a couple hours in the navigator's spire trying to find the Astronomicon quickly after Aunt Silvea spins me around a bunch of times. Even in the materium we can gaze into the warp, it's just a little harder than when you're  _ in _ it, but that just makes it  _ better  _ as training to spot the Throne quickly on demand.

Heading over to the wardrobe, I open it up to find something suitable. Well, there's nothing  _ unsuitable _ in here to be honest, hasn't been since 'Cella moved in. Grabbing a few things I quickly throw them on, then turn to watch the lovely site of Marcella getting into one of those dresses she loves. As she wiggles her hips to settle it, I call out "So, do those dresses come in maternity?" She turns halfway around to give me a brilliant smile.

"I'm certain my seamstress can manage."

"Eh, fair enough." And it is. The tailors and seamstresses employed by a Navigator house are called on to fit formal dress to  _ far _ more divergent body shapes than a mere pregnant woman. Wrapping my gunbelt around my waist, I holster my pistol and slot in the charge packs along the back, making sure the 'belt link' connectors are set. They're really just failovers, and while I have no expectation of being attacked in calm space like  _ this _ , the range master will yell at me if I don't.  _ Finding _ one willing to yell at a Navigator must have been a trick, but I'm glad he's there. More for Marcella than myself, even if she doesn't appreciate the yelling as much.

Appropriately dressed, we emerge into the main hall of our quarters, and find our aunt and uncle already having breakfast. I feel sorry for Uncle Graig honestly, intellectually I know he's only alive today because of his specific set of mutations, but he looks like a damn hutt. "Emperor's light upon you this morn." He greets, fastidiously buttering a biscuit that looks tiny in his hands but is indeed normal size.

"Uncle." I nod, pulling out a chair for Marcelle before taking one myself. She likewise greets him and takes a seat.

"Auspicious time to catch, if indeed you have." My lovely wife reddens, expecting more teasing. "Nearly full term in the Immaterium, with delivery in the Materium. Their eye will be strong." He's less of one for teasing than his wife, but both are guilty. Pleasantly though, he's not as focused on the matter as Silvea, and returns to fueling his bulk while taking care to eat politely. The food spread out on the table is of course fantastic, if not worthy of an actual formal banquet. I'm glad that even in the far future waffles are still a thing, and claim a large stack for myself. Ploin syrup and butter complete the set, and I grab a few assorted nuts to scatter across the top as well.

"The captain thinks we'll be under way late tomorrow." I comment, digging in.

"Emperor willing." Graig agrees, everyone making the sign in acknowledgement. HE understands you can't always show proper respect, but when you can you should.

…

…

The range has predictably already replaced the targets I destroyed, the old plates undoubtedly melted down to stock, maybe even reformed into these new ones. Plasteel is wonderfully recyclable after all.

Slow even breaths, deliberately calming my heart, taking careful aim before firing. It's not combat circumstances, but here and now I can shatter a plate with five out of every six shots. The admittedly potent hellpistol, inherited from one of my grand-aunts Chorda killed, becomes a devastatingly piercing weapon in the right hands. And yet I'd still prefer plasma. Maybe that's just being a teenager… again?

When I put down the pistol finally and clear the power feed, the sound of a clearing throat comes from behind me. When I turn around I find a Security officer holding out a handful of coins. Mousy brown hair and a deep scar running from her chin, up across a corner of her lip and ending on her cheek. She's also ripped as hell, as one would expect of any dedicated soldier. "The rake my lord." The face may be a stranger, but the voice I recognize.

"Excellent." Cupping my hand for her to drop the coins in, I deposit them in a pocket without bothering to count. The money isn't the point of demanding the rake. The point is the statement that their betting on me is  _ permitted _ . If one of their officers objects, it will have to be that they're betting at all, instead of being some dreamt up impugning of my honor. "Was there something else?"

"Ah, no my lord. Just some rumors I need to quash. You needn't concern yourself."

"Hmm." I shrug, then give a quick salute which she returns. "Dismissed." As she leaves, I once again move over a booth to help and 'help' Marcella with her marksmanship.

…

…

After about the twentieth time through the spinning exercise, I'm just laying on the floor waiting for the nausea to stop. Zero gravity I can handle  _ just fine _ according to memory, but spinning just really sucks. Spinning around like a top, spinning with my forehead pressed to a short staff, spinning while looking up at the ceiling, spinning in alternating directions, spinning spinning spinning. There's only so much I can take even with the talents and defenses, and finally I just fell over, trying not to puke.

I've only been down a few seconds when there's a flash of yellow at my side, Marcella's dress today, and the nozzle of a water pouch pressed to my lips. I take a few gulps and it  _ does _ help, but I still feel like I'm spinning. "Thanks." Distantly I hear Silvea laughing at us when 'Cella lays down on the floor of the spire to hug me until I can stand up again, but I'm too busy appreciating what I have to care about a teasing aunt at the moment.

The charting table on the bridge is only used for navigating the materium, no warp charts here, but while the crew can do this part without us, we're expected to know this portion of navigation as well. As such, Marcella and I find ourselves flanking the ship's voidmaster as he plots the course out to the mandeville point, doing the plotting ourselves as well to verify we all get the same result. I'm glad the Writ of Surplus operates under a Rogue Trader, I'm told our treatment aboard a navy vessel would be much less friendly.

"No, but- oh, right, I see it." The old man just smirks at us as we adjust our plots, and they suddenly match his perfectly. Ours would have done just fine, but spent half a percent more fuel getting there. The old Voidmaster is a cheapskate, and the gravity assist from one of the moons of Bilani VII is  _ barely _ worth going a little out of our way.

"Don't worry, little things like that are something you only learn to spot with time." He reassures us. "But is that a good place to hit the mandeville point?"

"We'll go check." I answer, and turn to head up the stairs to the spire. Warp-light on the bridge would be unwelcome at the moment. Marcella is right behind me as we reach the top of the stairs, and the view out the side of the Navigator's Spire is lovely. We have a job to do though, so the pair of us open our eyes and peer into the endless roiling sea underlaying this reality. As we work to understand the currents out at the edge of the system, a pair of servo-skulls salvaged from the remains of our lost relatives approach, each extending a connector we plug in to a port on the back of our necks.

The skulls don't quite contain the souls of our dead ancestors, but they do contain the warp-traces of every transit they made in life, the accumulated feel for the warp. Trying to sort through it while also peering into the warp is headache inducing, flickering images of other times, other places in the warp flying past the minds eye, looking for situations similar to what we're seeing now. After… oh, it's been a quarter hour. Actually not bad for what we've been doing, Marcella and I are finally in agreement.

Disconnecting from mine, I turn to the floating skull and bow slightly. "Even in death."

"I still serve."

Marcella repeats the process with hers, then giggles when I lean in to kiss the skin-cover that normally conceals the port. And keeps dust and dirt out of it, which is more important to the Magos who installed it. She precedes me back down the stairs, and manages to dance through the bustle of the bridge without getting in anyone's way. The tides of immediate future dance around her as she abuses her power just a little, and I smile while watching that grace. My own passage disturbs the flow of people a bit more than hers, despite her having full skirts. It's a different trick of precognition than those I've learned, but useful in its own way.

"And you agree with her augury?" The Voidmaster asks when I get to them.

"I do."

"Excellent."

"We will of course be doing another before proceeding with the jump."

"Of course." Captain Thorn speaks up, joining us at the table. She appears to be done issuing orders regarding the departure for the moment. Looking over the course projection, she taps the projected fuel expenditure with one manicured finger. "You're slipping old man."

"Different planetary alignment Captain." He answers stuffily, straightening his posture.

"Hmm."

* * *

Even with all the marvels of the far future, it's still a matter of pee on a stick that has Marcella on tenterhooks, a soft whine occasionally emerging while she waits the thirty seconds for a result. Even sitting on my lap with my arms around her doesn't calm her down much, all it does is make sure her mouth is right next to my ear when she squeals,  _ loudly _ . "EEEEEEEEEEE!!!!-" "Oww, not so loud." "-EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!" The squealing continues, with her excitedly bouncing up and down on my lap, arms wrapped around me.

"The young Lady's lungs seem quite healthy as well." The medicae looking on comments dryly, while I'm still rubbing my abused ear with one hand, the other around my, apparently, pregnant wife.

"What was that? Sorry, I seem to have been temporarily deafened." That gets her to stop squealing and bouncing long enough to pout at me, so I kiss her nose.

"####, yes." There's a rattle as… he? she? holds out a canister of large pills. "Take one with every meal, return for more when you run out. Yes, I am aware they're quite large, you will get used to them."

"She's swallowed larger." I tease, causing 'Cella to turn bright red and glare at me.

"TRIST!"

"Marcella?" I ask faux-innocently.

"In front of the medicae!?"

"They know already, I'm sure."

"Correct." I can almost hear amusement in the synthesized voice, but not quite. "Also, as every young couple asks, I will save you the embarrassment. You are in good health, so coitus is not contraindicated. Return for regular examination, and I will inform you if that changes."

It really doesn't save Marcella any embarrassment at all, but I'm quite amused by her embarrassment, so that's fine with me. "On that note." Hooking my free arm under her knees, I pick her up and stand up, turning toward the door. "May, er, the Omnissiah guide your work?" 

The medicae nods. "And may he light your path."

…

On the way back to our quarters, I pause in one of the corridors and lean my head in closer to her ear. "You're going to get more aroused with every step I take until we get to our quarters. Once you start dripping, you will also get more embarrassed, but not humiliated, with every step, and you will enjoy it."

"Throne on Terra..." She groans, biting her lip, clearly bracing herself as I go to take another step. Then when I do her eyes flutter a little and I grin.

I love having enhanced endurance, I really do. Especially when added onto being a teenager. I'm not obliged to take a single lift on the way back to our quarters, despite being over a kilometer of walking. By the time I've gone a hundred paces she's covering her face with one hand, the other side hidden against my shoulder and her free hand bunched in my coat. "Oh, but no dripping through your dress."

I can smell her rising arousal and embarrassment quite clearly by the time we're a quarter of the way there, and I'm sure the- "Trist?" Her voice is tight and barely above a whisper. "Make me be quiet?"

"Oh?" I lean in close so I can whisper too. "Are you about to climax?" She nods, very red faced. "Hmm, no. Hold it back until we get to our bed." Her eyes widen and she pouts, until I resume walking and she hides her face against my shoulder again.

…

I'm… somewhat surprised when we  _ do _ reach our room. She abruptly writhes in my arms until I have to let go, then positively  _ leaps _ for the bed on wobbly legs, burying her face in the covers and- "What!?" She cries out, hand is digging at her skirts between her legs, frantically rubbing through a half-dozen layers of cloth. "But you said."

Thinking back, I grin. "I said until  _ we _ get to our bed. I'm still by the door." She whines needily when I give that answer, rolling halfway over and staring at me with a brilliant blush and intense bedroom eyes, narrow rings of green around enlarged pupils. "You do realize I never said  _ how much _ more aroused you should get with every step. That was all on your interpretation."

It's tempting to take my time undressing, but she's such a picture that I just want to dive in. Stripping as quickly as I can, I head over to join her on our bed, only for her to scream the moment I touch it. Her back arches and she grips the covers in tight fists, hips rocking against nothing as all the tension finally releases. I have no idea how long it lasts, too captivated by the sight to pay attention to such trivial things as time. Her pleasure is beautiful to watch; hair tousled and flying back and forth as she writhes; eyes opening to show pupils rolling before clenching shut again; hips rolling and rocking while her spine arches. Then she collapses and just lays there looking at me through hooded eyes.

"You look-" She pants. "-like you-" Another breath "-enjoyed that-" Her chest heaves "-almost as-" gulping for air "-much as-" between words "-I did."

Looking down, I look back over at her and wiggle my eyebrows while flexing to make my dick bob. "Maybe. Roll over so I can get your laces." It takes her a couple tries, but once her legs cooperate she does.

**Segmentum Obscurus**  
**Calixis Sector**  
**Malfean Subsector**  
**Bilani System - Mandeville point**  
**Heavy Transport - Writ of Surplus**  
**7.177.736M41**

The Warp. For almost everyone in the Imperium of Man it conjures images of nightmare, of the horrors in the depths, the source of at least half the evils that plague Mankind. Is it any wonder then that there are so many rituals around Warp entry? My family are probably the only  _ calm _ people aboard the ship, or any of her three escorts. Standing in the spire and gazing out the window, I pull Marcella closer to my side and enjoy her head leaning against my deltoid. The only large change I made to her sliders is starting to be noticeable, but only just. Her hair is growing much faster and thicker now, with greater maximum length. It's not even suspicious, as pregnancy  _ can  _ cause changes like that. Behind us Uncle Graig is plugged into the navigation throne, the actual  _ throne _ part retracted into the ceiling for now since it would just get in his way. Silvea is standing next to him with a hand on his shoulder.

#Thirty seconds to Warp Dive.# comes over the loudhailer, followed by a stirring chorus, a rather martial beat backing words of praise to The Emperor. Rather reassuringly it even works, the crew devout enough that their prayers have an actual effect on the Empyrean. Not a large one to be sure, but they're going to have an easier time of Entry Shock than some. We might not have to worry about that, but it's nice when the crew stays sane. "I should head down to the bridge." Saying that, I give Marcella a little pinch to make her squeak, and kiss her upper eyelid before heading down the stairs.

It's nothing major, I'm just one of the two Navigators on board who's really practiced the trick of projecting a personal gellar field that extends farther than my own skin. The other is Graig, but he's the one on the throne for this jump. Taking position next to the chart table in the middle of the bridge, I try to project confidence for the officers here. Really, I'm not worried about this part, I can  _ see _ where we're going.

"You think I'm being paranoid." The captain asks, and when I turn to face her she has one eyebrow raised.

"No, I can see the crew's prayers on the other side having an effect. The effect is small-" The whole bridge seems to hold its breath. "-but only due to our distance from the Maw. There's little to have an effect  _ on _ at present." My words have the desired effect. The held breath becomes a shared sigh of relief, and the tension at least  _ here _ is much reduced.

Turning back to the chart table, I watch the counter projected above it hit zero. The nearly inaudible background hum of the plasma reactor deepens to a throaty drone for a few seconds, and then I feel the ship's gellar field sweep over me as the bridge shutters slam shut with resounding Clangs! The only windows on the ship permitted to stay open during travel are on the spire, since gazing upon the warp will drive anyone not a Navigator mad. Then the warp engine stabs out into the border between universes and cuts us a hole. The bulky cargo ship coasts through, and then the droning hum of the reactor fades away again, having done the bulk of its duty until it's time to emerge.

Looking around the bridge, I try to spot any signs of entry shock among the officers. There doesn't seem to be any, and I nod in satisfaction. There's probably a hundred people on the ship in dire straits right now, but hopefully I don't know any of them… And that's pretty callous isn't it? I- could maybe have helped  _ them _ , but it would have reduced my ability to help  _ all of them _ much later. I need a real powerbase before I can make large changes, and even T10's aren't a guaranteed thing here. Not when they'd be outnumbered by hostile T10's.

Heading back up the stairs to the spire, I pass through the double doors that make absolutely  _ sure _ no light can pass from here to the bridge, and walk up behind Marcella again, smiling when she glances over her shoulder at me, her warp-eye open and shining. Her gaze is warm and comforting, though I know from practice that she's a capable duelist when she wants to be. Seen with all eyes open, the Warp is… In some ways it's every metaphor at once. You can certainly navigate simply by the raw raging torrent of the unfiltered warp, and the very best do, but most pick one of those flickering metaphors and follow it, forcing the journey to come to them. Marcella and I are both still limited to the latter, but one day we won't be.

And that day will come much sooner with our lesson schedule in the warp. The entire direction of our education shifts during the voyage, becoming nothing but sitting in the spire with Graig or Silvea as they Navigate the course. We're still permitted things like marksmanship practice, but it's not on our lesson plan, it has to be personal time. The Writ is an excellent learners ship, her warp drive slow but steady, and her gellar fields terrifically resilient.

Silvea's lessons are… Less unpleasant, with her standing behind the throne as I take a seat, leaning over the back puts her mouth next to my ear while she gives instruction, and I'm  _ well aware _ of the couple-hundred needle-sharp teeth hovering much  _ much  _ too close to said appendage. She enjoys unnerving me by clicking them too, "To add stress when the warp is calm" is her explanation. I think she just likes making me squirm. Marcella gets the same treatment, which is  _ even worse _ , because she won't let me kiss her neck for an hour after we get done.

Graig? Well, there's only so much room at the controls, and he takes up all of it. The end result is a bit like… Well, one side of my memories remembers a plane flight where some six hundred pound dude only bought one ticket.

* * *

One interesting property of Warp travel is that even those who experience nothing else will often encounter phantom echoes, if you will, of objects and people. There's no real agreement  _ what _ they are, duplicates, variations, could-have-beens? Sometimes their transient reality is shared, sometimes it isn't. Sometimes they're malicious, usually they aren't, just confusing. Either way, it's an excellent opportunity for some testing.

...

"Excuse me my lady!" A familiar voice calls, and turning around I find my betting friend running up behind us, one of the spawned chokers in her hand. Marcella reaches for her neck as though checking its presence. "I think you- Oh." She looks between the choker still around Marcella's neck and the one in her hand, clearly coming to the conclusion that it's a phantom.

"I see it too, looks like a strong echo." Holding out a hand, I accept it from her when she hands it over. I make a show of turning away so I can examine it in the light of my warp eye without blasting her, then shrug and hand it back. "Well, it's not a  _ malicious  _ echo. I guess you can have your own copy for however long it lasts. Just don't get disappointed when it disappears when we reach the Witch-Cursed System."

"R-Right. Thank you my lord."

…

…

"Was that really necessary?" Marcella asks quietly, snuggled up in my lap while we read a couple books on our dataslates. "Giving her one of the extras?"

"We need a test subject, and she's a soldier. If these things can hurt you, better they hurt her first. I know I've been playing with it a lot-" She snorts. "-okay,  _ really _ a lot. But we need to know for sure. Especially for the stuff other than just ordering you around."

"Fine." She doesn't sound completely fine, so I just lean my head down to rest my cheek atop her head and hug her tighter.

"Besides, if I can give her inviolable orders too, then I know we can use them to get trustworthy guards, first for you, then the baby, maybe keep expanding if they keep showing up."

"I said 'fine'"

"But you didn't mean it, not really."

"Hmph."

**Segmentum Obscurus**  
**Calixis Sector**  
**Halo Stars?**  
**The Warp**  
**Heavy Transport - Writ of Surplus**  
**9.186.736M41**

The buzzing sensation of my pendant doesn't really wake me up because I hadn't quite fallen asleep yet. Tapping the thing without moving away from 'Cella's snuggling, I bring up the menu and find one Ligia Fantz has an entry on the list of wearers. "Hmm." The thought-based interface of the thing is rather convenient, allowing me to continue snuggling while I make adjustments. The 'set sliders to current value' button gets hit first, tempting as it might be,  _ that _ physical shape isn't much use in a guard, and variety is good anyway. Once I have more of these out there, and once the mechanicus clears them, I can have a few who get the full plastic treatment.

Searching through the advanced options, I dig through menu after menu. There's just  _ so much _ , and I'm not entirely certain where the options I want are going to be. Finally I find the thing under endocrine related adjustments, and turn her muscle density and bone density all the way up. They only go to 100%, with a greyed out portion to the bar above that. Tapping it gets a help menu about subjects trying to resist raising the bar. Hmm… I don't really  _ want _ to make Marcella do anything she'd hate. Ligia? Eh, maybe I can squeeze a few percent out of her? It sounds like it's going to be a relatively slow process. And the bonus for reaching 200% and ten slaves is… kinda boring. Who cares about hips too wide for a door? I want a compounding option on the  _ elasticity _ slider. Thinking of which, I turn that all the way up for Sergeant-At-Arms Fantz too. I'd love to do that to Marcella, but I don't want to hurt her, or our child.

Continuing on, I proceed to give the Sergeant as close to the Steve Rogers treatment as I can. In a few days she'll be a super-soldier, if not nearly to the level of the Astartes, and we can take her to the infirmary to have Medicae Eta-623 take a look at her.

For now I need sleep, but first… "I love you." She doesn't respond, so I grin and proceed with a little experiment. "The first time we kiss tomorrow, you will climax." With that, I snuggle a little closer against her and fall asleep myself.

…

…

"Hehehe…" I laugh against Marcella's lips. The surprise in her eyes is exquisite and she simply melts against me when it happens. She woke up first this time, and rubbed noses until I woke up before kissing me. As she stops trembling, I glance over at the chrono, and smile more. "Looks like we're up early. How do you feel about sex before breakfast?" The way she simply pushes herself up to straddle me and giggles while grinding her hips answers the question quite beautifully.

* * *

"Milord." The good sergeant is once again approaching us at the range, again with the rake from the betting, but this time with her uniform collar buttoned all the way up. She's not the only one, plenty of the crew get chills in the warp, and I can't say it's entirely psychosomatic. In her case though…

"Sergeant, good day to you." Slipping the pittance of coins into my pocket, I make to turn back to shooting, but she speaks up again.

"I-Milord, if I could-?"

"Hmm?" I turn my head to look back at her again.

"It.- It won't come off. The latch vanished." She explains, but I just shrug.

"Marcella's did the same thing." I inform her. "They may be jewelry, but the originals are also some sort of archeotech, from out in the Expanse." With a smile, I add. "We received the set as a wedding gift. Supposed to be protective somehow, but I haven't seen it. I wouldn't worry too much, it should vanish when we reach the Witch-Cursed system in another month." The bit about the wedding gift is even true according to my local memories, and I have to wonder about the way the threads of fate were twisted to arrange the events leading up to my awakening.

"I have to hide it for a  _ month _ ?.. Milord." She asks quietly, clearly distressed.

"Well, I can try something. Hold still." Taking a deep breath and letting it out, I exert my will on our local reality, reinforcing the gellar field in the immediate vicinity. Quite predictably nothing happens.

"Ohhh, that's better." Well, almost nothing. Someone's warp induced headache got relieved a few booths over. Holding it for a few seconds, I wait for the complete lack of reaction from Ligia, then shake my head.

"Apparently not. If it does anything, or if it doesn't vanish when we exit, we can go see the medicae about it. I'll cover the cost of you visiting the officer's medicae, since I was the one who told you the echo was safe."

"Thank you milord." She looks disappointed, but tries a smile anyway. It pulls oddly at the scar across her lips, but it's kind of cute anyway. Bit of a mismatch with the otherwise swole physique.

* * *

**Segmentum Obscurus**  
**Calixis Sector**  
**Halo Stars?**  
**The Warp**  
**Heavy Transport - Writ of Surplus**  
**9.201.736M41**

Of course it doesn't take nearly as long for her to take me up on the medicae visit as to reach the witch-cursed world. When she realized her weight has increased substantially, without changing her size, she approached me at the firing range again. Now Marcella and Silvea and I are waiting in the room while Eta-623 draws blood from Ligia. Initial scans didn't show anything inhuman, but they also didn't match her records. A genetic analysis will provide the final word, but I'm not too worried.

After putting the sample in the holy blood testing machine, and praying over it for a bit, Eta takes a seat with the rest of us, though they have their own reinforced rolly-chair. I doubt they actually need to sit down, but it's there anyway. "Please, reiterate the sequence of events."

"Marcella and I have had these necklaces for.. Half a year now, give or take due to warp time. We knew they're archeotech of some description, but we were told no one knew how to activate them, and the previous owners were in fine health."

"And they're beautiful." Marcella contributes, stroking the gem on the front of hers.

"When we put them on, we discovered that we couldn't take them  _ off _ again because the latches disappeared, but it didn't seem like a problem." I shrug. "Mildly protective archeotech that stays put is a blessing." Eta nods agreement with that perspective, and gestures for me to continue. "Recently it seems more functions have come active, some of them can be turned on or off with thought, others I'm not certain of yet." Turning to Silvea, I smirk. "Try to find my path."

Her eye snaps open for a moment, then stays open a moment longer, and another, before she finally closes it to avoid harming the non-navis present. Her jaw hangs open, dumbfounded. "Indeed, that was approximately our reaction." Turning back to Eta, I explain. "They render us invisible to future-sight. I imagine our lives will greatly frustrate some Eldar Farseers simply by existing, and I find that deeply satisfying."

"Truly a marvel of the Omnissiah." Eta speaks reverently. "But what about the echo?"

"I only checked that it wasn't the work of the Great Enemy. I did nothing to check whether it was indeed an  _ echo _ until five days ago when Ligia first brought her concerns to me, at which point I attempted to dismiss it and failed. It's not unheard of, I'm still quite young, but I expected it to fade when we exit the Warp.  _ Then _ she started to change and I brought her here. My guidance in the Warp steered her wrong, it is my duty to set her straight." The last bit alleviates Silvea's concerns about me bringing her  _ here _ , expressing it in terms of a Navigator's purpose.

Taking a deep breath, I also take a large risk. "However, I am growing less confident it's an echo." Reaching into my coat pocket where it's hanging over the back of the chair behind me, I pull out a pair of the chokers. "These were under my pillow when I awoke. They're almost the same, save for a string of characters I don't recognize." With that I hand the additional chokers to Eta.

Of course, I full well recognize the implications of an alphanumeric serial number, and a model designation... But I can hardly  _ admit _ I recognize them when they're written with the characters and spelling of  _ M3 English, Spanish, and Chinese _ . It's the same sentences in all three, but again, not something I can admit to knowing.

Eta's gasp when they find the text, when the figure out what it is, is accompanied by a palpable wave of rapture emanating from her. Quite literally I can feel it as a physical thing due to being in the Warp. The eternal tempest around us calms for just a moment under the intensity of Eta's religious experience. "##### I am ### Not qualified to ### examine these. But I will do my utmost to learn what I can from them."

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing! Nothing is wrong! How such holy relics came to… May I examine yours?"

"You'll have to get a little close, I can't take it off, but you can look at it." I've never seen Eta move that fast, and it's frankly intimidating when you know they weigh several hundred kilograms. But they come to a halt without impact, and their fingers dissolve into a flurry of miniscule tools, poking and prodding my pendant while also apparently taking readings of various types.

Turning my head to Marcella and shrugging earns me a blast of ~~static~~ binary, and at that point I figure it's better to hold still. After a few minutes Eta backs off and collapses back to their seat. "You are its chosen wearer, if removed it might be millenia before we find another." They're clearly disappointed, but turn their attention to the extras. "These two, they have no chosen wearers."

"What about Marcella's? Or Ligia's?" I ask, barely ahead of Silvea asking the same thing.

"With the glyphs marking such located on the back, I would need to cut into their necks to verify. That would be  _ imprudent _ when I can check much more efficiently in other ways. I will begin examination while the Blessed sampler of vitae tests the sergeant's blood on its palate."

Waiting in the same room like this, I can tell the effect the choker's had on the sergeant's desires. Her eyes keep focusing on the way Marcella leans against me, then tracking over to my empty left side. She sags a little each time, clearly wishing she could cuddle up opposite my wife, but knowing she can't. Well, for now anyway, but she doesn't know that part.

Eventually the tester chirps for attention, and Eta eagerly steps away from the unused chokers to examine what an active one has done to Ligia's blood. After a few more minutes examining the readouts, they announce. "The sergeant is in perfect health.  _ Perfect _ ." There's a bit of muttering, then they turn around to face us. "I ran only the neonatal blood examination on the young Lady Cassini, and none on you milord. I wish to rectify this."

"...Fine." I sigh dramatically, and roll up my sleeve.

…

…

"These results! These devices! This is not nearly the requisite sample size for determination. Oh for another twenty six of these!"

"Well, so far we started with two, and three more simply appeared. Perhaps they manufacture more of themselves?"

"It should be impossible, but- If you find more, bring them to me! If these do what they appear, do you know what it  _ means _ !?"

"We get to be really healthy?"

"There wasn't a  _ single pathogen _ in any of your blood samples! Utterly impossible! No, no, the bone density, the muscle density, the immune response! To create such perfection of man from such perfection of machine! Whoever built these was guided by the Omnissiah's own hand!" I've been choosing my words to lead and prod Eta toward complete approval, but I didn't really account for how  _ intense _ their approval can get. "Sergeant, stay, I have more tests. Navigators, I'm certain you have important duties, but whenever you don't I have more tests for you as well. Nondestructive of course."

"Good luck." Looking Ligia in the eye, I add "May The Emperor protect you."

With the Medicae's declaration that the changes wrought on Sgt. Ligia are wonderful, I eagerly search out and set the same sliders for Marcella and myself. It doesn't take long now that I know where to look, and it's done before we even make it to the bridge antechamber. Silvea has been silent on the matter as we walked, presumably not wanting to discuss it where less reliable crewmembers might be able to hear, but the moment we reach the spire and thus attain safety from any eavesdroppers, she whirls around and gives me a gimlet eye.

"If those things are as good as Eta believes, it could aid in our family's return to our former greatness. Perfect health like that will allow Marcella to produce more children-" The girl herself huffs at being called out like that. "But if it can be granted to other girls of the house it will have a much greater benefit to our rebuilding. Let the medicae have what they need to test, but once they're clear you will reserve the greater portion of any additional devices for our family." She sniffs and waves a hand dismissively. "Once we have a good number for family use, I suppose you can take more toys like the sergeant."

"I haven't taken her." I object.

"I saw how she looks at you. Why not? Marcella is already pregnant."

Looking at my wife, I expect to find her glaring daggers at our aunt, but instead she's biting her lip, and I can faintly smell her arousal. "Is this something we should discuss? Later and in private?" She doesn't answer verbally, but her eyes tell the story. Nodding, I turn back to Silvea. "That is a matter for us alone."

"Hm. Well-" "Silvea dear, it seems I have missed something important. Do kindly rectify my ignorance." Graig interrupts whatever she was about to say. Silvea pauses a moment, then decides whatever she was going to say to us is less important than sharing the story with her husband.

While they do that, I turn to my wife and look down at her uncertain expression, then jerk my head toward one of the observation windows. She heads over to stare out at the shoal of daemons searching for weaknesses in the gellar field, and I stand behind her, hands on her waist and with her head leaning back against my chest. The roiling currents of the Immaterium are really quite pretty, it's the  _ things _ living out there that are the problem. There's a flash of light from her Eye that reflects in the window, and when I follow her gaze I find one of our ever-present assailants struggling against her binding.

After a moment I figure out what she's doing, and add my own glare to the equation since it's out at the very edge of her range. The daemon struggles as much as it's able, but can't escape before getting smeared across the gellar field. The tattered remains are immediately set upon by several others, but most of this particular group back off a bit after the demonstration. "Well spotted." I praise her perceptiveness.

"Thank you!" She answers, with a bit of forced cheer, then a bit more somberly asks "Are you mad if I-"

"If you?"

"If I want to watch you... take her?"

"No.  _ Do you _ want that?" She nods a little, and I can see her blush reflected in the window. It's not really a surprise, the chokers  _ are _ supposed to increase sexual interest in 'other slaves in the same orbit', whatever that means. There's a slider for it, so I could turn it down, but I don't want to for her, I like the idea of sharing them with her. Hmm… As more of these things wander out into the galaxy, I really need some way to adjust the defaults. I don't want to be scrolling through thousands of names to check everyone's set correctly. Maybe I can get Eta's help once they inevitably bind themselves.

We have a few minutes of idle weather watching, before Silvea finishes retelling the story, and then it's time for more lessons.

* * *

**Segmentum Obscurus**  
**Calixis Sector**  
**Halo Stars?**  
**The Warp**  
**Heavy Transport - Writ of Surplus**  
**9.205.736M41**

A little over a day, that's all it takes before I feel my pendant buzzing with the capture of another. Checking the display, I raise an eyebrow in bemusement when there's a new top-level tab. The menu now lists Navigators, Soldiers, and Psykers. Given what I know of the crew complement that narrows things down a bit. "Hmm, I expected Eta to test on a menial." the words are quiet, as I'm once again helping Marcella with her marksmanship. It may not be the most enjoyable of lessons for her, but if there's ever a field failure, the servants of the great enemy know to go for us first.

She pauses in her firing for a moment to turn her head and ask "Who?" in a likewise quiet tone.

"One of the Astropaths. We'll have to ask about that once we have reason to know." As she continues melting little holes in the target plate, I bring up the menu to take a closer look. Thalia Casuat is the name on the tab and- oh. So that's why she was picked. The individual displayed next to the endless lists of sliders is definitely on their second to last or so legs. She's withered and a bit stooped, honestly kind of ugly, but that won't last. Reining in the body proportions sliders, I then pull the age slider all the way back down to a mere twenty five instead of ten times that number, then proceed to dig through the menus for the particularly interesting ones again.

As I work, I keep an eye on Marcella's form, and on her form, but there's little to correct today. She's keeping the gun nice and high, finally casting aside the habit of aiming with her flesh eyes. The gun is also much steadier in her grip, likely due to the little progress already made on the increased muscle density.

Ligia keeps finding some excuse to walk past while we work, I think she managed to get the booth schedules conflicting in such a way as to put half her people to one side of us, and half to the other. Not a bad trick in any light I must admit, she gets to look at us more, and troops who answer to her have both our flanks. Nice 'subtle' bit of bodyguard work even if we probably don't need it here. Leaning in close, I ask my wife "So, do I order her to our quarters this evening?" The next shot misses the target entirely, and I answer my own question. "Apparently not, with shooting like that."

"You are quite terrible." She nearly moans in a quiet tone.

"And you will likely never be drawing your weapon in anger while calm. Distractions during practice are good for you. For the rest of this session, your most recent shot will determine your arousal. A bullseye will bring you near climax, a complete miss will be more effective than bathing in ice water. Hits between will act accordingly." She gulps heavily, but when she turns her head to look up at me her eyes are bright. I just nod and smile, and she raises her hellpistol again, taking  _ very _ careful aim. Her whole body tenses up, but then she remembers herself and relaxes again, alleviating the trembling that would throw off her aim.

*crak* The shot lances out and leaves a glowing mark dead center on the target. Marcella's reaction is absolutely gorgeous, but I have to give another order quickly to avoid awkward questions. "Quiet!"

By the time we're done with practice she's a bit of a mess, but you couldn't tell a thing just looking at her. The absolute rollercoaster of ups and downs has her a little dazed, but ending with a miss at least has her mostly clear-headed, if disappointed.

On the way back to our quarters, the comm-bead hooked on the collar of my coat crackles, and I pull it up and stick it in my ear. "Navigator Tristain."

"Milord, ## I have ### interesting results ###."

…

…

"Eta! What did you find?" I ask upon entering the room. Also present is a slightly better looking Thalia Casuat. It's only been a couple hours, but she's already standing straighter. It'll be interesting to see what she looked like at twenty five. As is she's probably had a juvenat treatment or two in her life, but those can only do so much.

"Definitively not Halo objects. One of my peers rightly curbed my enthusiasm by pointing out the possibility of deceit, but this Astropath proves otherwise. Halo objects categorically refuse to attach to psykers  _ and _ anyone directly touched by The Omnissiah. As a member of both categories, she was an excellent test subject. Poor health was also a factor. I will monitor her changes as they happen. Remember, I need more for testing if they appear!"

"I remember."

**Segmentum Obscurus**  
**Calixis Sector**  
**Halo Stars?**  
**The Warp**  
**Heavy Transport - Writ of Surplus**  
**9.214.736M41**  
**Est. arrival in Witch-Cursed System 9.276.736M41**

Over the past several days, the old Astropath has shown a  _ remarkable _ transformation. With every visit Marcella and I find Eta's enthusiasm just as high as the first, positively thrilled with the effects it's having on her patient. Where Thalia looked every year of her two-fifty when first collared, she's now walking around the infirmary unassisted. The roots of her hair are coming in black, her skin is still wrinkled but no longer papery, and her limbs have filled out a bit. She's never going to be heavily built, but she's well on her way to 'runway model who's eaten a few sammiches'. And isn't  _ that _ an anachronism here.

The way she looks at me and Marcella has also been shifting. It's quite difficult to read an astropath's expressions, particularly when they're in as bad shape as she was, but as her health has improved her smiles when she sees us have grown a little…  _ lascivious _ . She still looks much too old to hold my interest, but as the years fall away, what's left underneath could have been attractive once, and will be in the future.

"Morning Eta" I hold up a choker and watch as it abruptly vanishes from my hand. "And an inspired morning to you too."

"##Thank you. I have another subject for testing. ### Procedure discourages consuming ###all available samples if ##avoidable." I just nod. At this point there are five chokers unused, which is the cap until more  _ get _ used apparently. Having Eta do the collaring for me in the name of studying archeotech… If all it did was expand my reserve it would be useful. Expanding my entourage and preserving souls against the warp at the same time make it a bit of a coup for now.

"I'll see about checking in again later, after weapons practice."

"Always so### noncommittal. You always ### make time."

"A history of success doesn't mean I should promise success. Not when duty could call me elsewhere." Nodding to Eta and giving Thalia a jaunty wave, I turn and head for the bridge and the spire. Marcella's probably there already.

* * *

When her target shatters Marcella and I both stare at it in surprise for a moment, before she squeals and hops in place. I… do  _ not _ get my chin out of the way in time, which kind of ruins the mood a little. My teeth clack together loudly, fortunately  _ without _ my tongue between them, and Marcella ends up ducking down with her hands pressed against the crown of her head. "Owww…" "Ugggh…" Her groan of pain is cuter than mine, which is a rather asinine thing to notice at the moment, but there you go.

We both recover fairly quickly, what with peak-human tissues, but she makes a show of pouting at me and rubbing her head, as though it were my fault. "What? You want me to kiss it better?" She smiles and stops rubbing, instead tilting her head toward me for an easier angle. Snorting at her antics, I nevertheless lean down to plant a kiss on the dome of her head. While I'm there I take the chance to smell her hair and appreciate the silky texture on my cheek. "You got it right. Do you want what I promised?" I ask quietly, and she nods with her head still tucked in against my chest and with my cheek pressed against the top. "Very well. When she brings the rake at the end."

Returning to the shooting booth, I resume my position behind my adorable wife to continue helping her improve. Though positioned a  _ little _ to one side now just in case. It's still hit-or-miss whether she can even see the lines, and trying to  _ combine _ it with viewing the future of her shot is something she fumbles again and again. The shared talents shine through though, and she's picking it up almost as fast as I did. Much as the breadth of my vision has been improving faster than it once did, though not  _ quite _ as quickly as hers.

"Good girl." I congratulate each time she makes the shot correctly, earlier orders resulting in those words causing her to shiver in restrained pleasure, not allowed to show any external sign of it beyond that shiver. It's not an orgasm, just a tingle up her spine, and while  _ enough _ of them might have that result it's not going to be today. She manages to get it right another half-dozen times over the course of our second hour at the range, but then it's time for us to leave. As we're waiting for the power packs we expended to recharge one last time, Ligia approaches us as usual to hand over the rake. When I spot her headed our way, I look down at Marcella and give her a wink that turns her a bright red and makes her grin slightly at the same time.

Looking around I find that there's no one else near us at the moment, which isn't that odd. Hellpistols are much more ammo-hungry than the lasguns most of them are using, getting forty shots from a power pack quadruple the size of the ones that will feed a lasgun sixty. On the other hand, they also have the penetration to pretty much ignore carapace even without something like Eye of Oblivion.

"Milord." Ligia greets, holding out her hand.

As I accept the coinage from her I look her directly in the eyes and smile slightly, lifting one corner of my lips a little higher. One of my fingers brushes innocently across the inside of her wrist, but does so in just the right way to make the gesture seem more intimate to her. Her composure is stronger than that, but I can see the way her pupils widen just a little. "Sergeant." Lowering my voice a little, I speak a few words that make her eyes dilate  _ much _ further and cause her to gulp. "Report to the Navigator's quarters at three-quarters second shift. Be discrete."

"M-milord! I-I… Yes milord." I nod when she accepts, and let my smirk rise a little further.

When she turns to head back to where her subordinates are still practicing, I look to Marcella, finding her with eyes dark and her blush occupying territory well down her neck. Our last power packs are nearing full charge, but there's  _ plenty _ of time to kiss her senseless before we leave.

**Segmentum Obscurus**  
**Calixis Sector**  
**Halo Stars?**  
**The Warp**  
**Heavy Transport - Writ of Surplus**  
**9.215.736M41**  
**Est. arrival in Witch-Cursed System 9.276.736M41**

As the time approaches, Marcella's nervousness just rises and rises, along with her excitement. It doesn't help that I've been teasing her with light touches and gentle kisses here and there, deliberately winding her up even though she's quite capable of doing that all on her own. When the door chime sounds, her breathing picks up even more, and I just smile. "It's going to be okay, she won't tell anyone… Silvea might, but not outside the family." Adding that undid all the help the first portion lent, and I'm quite certain she's working herself into even more of a froth as I head for the door.

"Oh, Sergeant, do come in. I assume you're here for Tristain?"

"Oh! Lady Cassini! I-I'm sorry, I-" Oh hells, Silvea got there first. I know for a fact she was in her room too, so she cheated to get to the door first. Entirely to make Marcella and I squirm I'm sure.

"It's fine Ligia." I call out, approaching from behind Aunt Silvea. "Aunt." She steps out of the way with a smile, one that has Ligia sucking in a gasp and trying to force down her lifelong reaction to obvious mutation. She's nearly frozen in place, and I shoot my aunt a narrow glare.

Her smile widens. "Judging by the sounds he wrings from my niece, he's worth the wait. Do try not to let them down." With that she pats me on the shoulder and turns away, heading for her room. Using her  _ feet _ this time. "I will be relieving Graig at the shift change."

"I… she…" Ligia's brain seems to be suffering from a bit of vapor lock.

"Relax, she just enjoys watching people squirm." The sigh of relief and abrupt lack of tension in her posture points out that I phrased the first bit of that as an order. Oh well, I'm not planning on leaving her as much freedom as Marcella anyway. "Follow me." I command, turning from the door. The sound of it sliding shut behind her and her footsteps on the marble in the antechamber confirm that she is indeed. "You will keep our private relations secret. If someone levels an accusation regarding them, you will pretend ignorance if possible, and refuse to answer if not. Then you will inform me as discreetly as possible."

"..Yes milord."

Pausing at the door to my bedroom, I turn to look at her. The order to relax is apparently still in effect, but she's clearly aroused, and actually not terribly concerned. I suppose she hasn't  _ tried _ to violate an order yet, so she hasn't realized she  _ can't _ . "Marcella has expressed a desire to watch. If she discovers a desire for more, you will oblige her. Understood?"

"Yes milord."

"Good." Opening the door, I head through, Ligia close behind me. Marcella is lounging on a somewhat overstuffed loveseat, still dressed for the moment, with one hand pressing at her skirts while the other is getting a finger lightly chewed. Her eyes are dark with desire, and I give her a wink as I enter the room before stepping aside to let the sergeant fully into the room. The opulence provided to command personnel even in the navy is supposedly immense, but on ships belonging to rogue traders it's a couple steps higher.

Our four-poster bed might be the size of her entire quarters, and the frame is real teak. Not Terran of course, but teak all the same. Silk sheets and soft carpeting, with a small section immediately around the door continuing the marble from the main area. Somewhere for donning and doffing boots to preserve the carpet. Of course, Marcella and I have done  _ significant _ harm to the carpet just next to the bed, where I bent her over and made her wail until our mingled juices soaked deep into the pile. The maids do good work though, so you can't tell now.

"Take your boots off and stand there." I order, watching as she nods and takes a seat on one of the two chairs kept by the door for the purpose. Sitting down across from her I do likewise, leaving the both of us in bare feet, socks left draped over the edges of the boots.

When she stands up I reach for the buttons of her shipboard uniform. As I start to unbutton her coat, her expression shifts oddly. Perhaps it's strange for Nobilite to undress their lessers, but I enjoy unwrapping women. My fingers are well accustomed to undressing someone else courtesy of Marcella, but she wears women's designs and apparently whoever this fleet buys uniforms from does all the buttons in the men's style. It slows me down a little, but not that much, and soon I have her shirt hanging open to reveal the drab grey elasticized undershirt. "You'll need something nicer at some point." I comment, causing her to blush a little. I recognize it as a standard issue item, something intended to provide the bare minimum support to any and every female soldier at little cost. Somewhere between a tshirt and a sports bra, with enough stretch for everything from a B to an E. Whatever the material is is truly remarkable, but it only comes in one color.

Pushing the shirt and coat off her shoulders, I let them fall to the floor in a pile. Then grasping the bottom of her 41st millennium sports bra, I start dragging it up, revealing her tits from the bottom up. She draws a shaky breath, but obligingly raises her arms as I continue pulling. Her soldier's body is a sculpted masterpiece. Various small scars decorate the skin of her torso, the marks of a life of violence, but her tits are unmarked. They're not very large, but there's just enough there to need that sports bra. Without it they barely droop at all, just enough to know there's nothing artificial there.

Leaning in, I take one stiff nipple between my lips and give the tip a little lick, listening to her quiet gasp. Another lick has the same result, and when I close my lips and suck she moans aloud. My tongue twirls around to discover the various sounds she might make, and her hands move to cup the back of my head, her fingers threading through my hair. Of course, that's when I stop, pulling back and leaving her wanting. She seems a little dazed when I look at her face, but she's smiling.

Her pants take little effort to remove, but then all that's left is her panties. With a grin I flick the sides down and- Ah, her thighs are too muscular for that trick. Pushing them down a little farther, they finish the fall to the floor and she's left naked. Undressing myself isn't as much of a production, I could have her do it, but I'm getting impatient.

"Marcella, do you want her facing you, away from you, or in profile?" Ligia's ongoing blush deepens when I ask the question, as does Marcella's.

"Uhm, profile."

Gesturing to the foot of the bed, I instruct her to "lay down." She's clearly quite embarrassed, but also highly aroused if the glistening of her lips is anything to go by. I'm not sure if she shaves or if- no, I set to current for her as the first thing. She's shaved, but I'm not sure if that's her normal habit. Climbing onto the bed between her legs, I grin down at her as I get lined up, but then look over at Marcella when I start pushing in. Her eyes are wide and widely dilated, she's breathing rapidly and her hand is rubbing through her skirts with much greater vigor.

"She's not as tight as you are, but she clenches harder." I assess, and listen to Marcella's moan. Ligia is already moaning as my 'enhanced' cock splits her open. "I guess it's not surprising with all the extra muscle." Continuing to squeeze past clenching muscles while Ligia gets used to my thickness after what's likely been a bit of a dry spell, I pull back a few times just to make sure her juices are sufficiently spread across my dick. She's hot and slick, and what she lacks in tightness is made up in clenching.

She doesn't make up for the lack of wanton neediness though. Her legs wrapping around me and pulling are about as much as she seems to be going for, her hands resting on my shoulders. Glancing back and forth I make a point of meeting both their eyes. "She's also not as aggressive as you are, makes things a bit different." Continuing to thrust, I focus on the actual feel of her slick passage. "Texture's different, but I can't really… And she's shallower than you are, despite being twenty centimeters taller." Indeed I've struck bottom with a couple centimeters still in the breeze.

Pulling back and sliding forward again, I experimentally nudge against the back of her pussy, the head of my dick bumping against the rubbery ring of her cervix. It's not remotely lined up for any sort of penetration, I checked with Eta about that sort of thing when Marcella's test came back positive. Instead I'm sliding across the entrance and bumping into the actual back wall of her canal. A few more thrusts is enough to establish that neither of us really enjoys an impact like that, but just grinding a bit is really nice.

With that I start to move more aggressively, having established depth and knowing to be careful, I can just start really giving it to her while she clenches around me regularly and rocks her hips, still being pretty sedate with her hands. Leaning down, I nibble her nipple, letting my teeth graze it just a little for some spice, getting her to arch her back. As far as I can tell she's greatly enjoying this, she's just much more- Oh…  _ relaxed _ about it.

Holding myself deep inside her and grinding a bit while I think isn't really conducive to that thinking, but it doesn't take long to make up my mind. The exercise of power is hot, and I'm going to keep her like this for now. I can fix it afterwards. Right now I just want to fill her up while Marcella watches, make her cum around me and shiver her way through climax while remaining relaxed.

I'm not sure if it's Marcella watching me, or having Ligia under my power, or the combination, but even with her staying relaxed I'm approaching the end, especially as her clenching grows faster, her body showing excitement within it can't show without. Bringing a hand down to her clit, I start rubbing around it with my thumb and move my head to bite the side of her breast. IT doesn't take much before her clenching turns from a deliberate motion to an instinctive one, quivering around me wonderfully and bringing me over the edge as well. Tilting my head so I can look to the side, I try to catch Marcella's eyes while I pump a huge load into Ligia.

When she notices me looking, and the look in my eyes, her hands speed up even more. She's clearly on the edge, but can't quite get the stimulation through her dress. Her obvious excitement just adds to the pleasure crawling its way up my spine and down to my toes, until all too soon it's over… Well, round one anyway. Pulling out of the sergeant with a grunt, I stand up and look at my wife. She's still reaching for her peak, but without the visuals and with her dress in the way… Walking over to where she's seated, with my still-hard cock bobbing with my steps, I lean down to ask her quietly. "Would you like to taste her on me, or me in her?" Her eyes locked on my slimy member already answer the question, but actually saying it seems to solidify it in her mind.

Nearly lunging forward, she grabs the base of my dick with one hand and wraps her lips around the tip, groaning when the taste of another woman hits her tongue, mixed with the familiar taste of my seed. It feels wonderful, and if I weren't a teenager that groan might help with keeping me hard, but I don't actually need any help. Her tongue dances around, greedily scrubbing off the juices Ligia left behind, working her way down my shaft without stopping to breathe. "That's it, take as much as you can." I tell her, voice nearly a groan of pleasure. "Taste her on me and cum with it in your throat." Her progress speeds up only a little as she works her way further onto me, my tip hitting the back of her throat and causing her body to rebel a little, but this isn't the first time she's done this and she leans forward to arch her neck back, eyes gleaming in the light as she meets mine. Her tongue still eagerly lapping around for more.

The improved elasticity from the choker shines through as she forces herself onto my cock, her throat stretching in ways most couldn't without harm. Then she's cumming, eyes rolled back and throat spasming as her scream is blocked. It feels amazing but I just came, so she'd have to keep at it far longer than either of us intend right now.

When she pulls back she's panting heavily, looking a bit disheveled, and wonderfully wanton. Leaning down, I tell her "You look beautiful." She knows how messy she is at the moment, so the implications are clear. "If you decide to eat my seed out of her, you will have a small orgasm every time you swallow a mouthful." I know I left as much as is humanly possible, but I haven't bothered to measure. It's much more fun leaving it in Marcella than any sort of graduated container. She whines in the back of her throat, looking over at Ligia, clearly torn. "There's a reason I phrased it with an 'if'. You don't have to do it. Would you prefer to have her eating my seed out of you? Just have her watch us now? Or is this enough for this evening?"

"I want-" She starts. "I don't know…"

"Well, I can order her back whenever you want, so you can make that decision later." She relaxes when I point that out, nodding silently with eyes averted and lower lip pulled between her teeth. "Ok."

Turning back to Ligia, I head over and sit on the bed near her head, leaning back and resting a hand on her shoulder while looking down at her face. "Keep everything that happened here a secret. You will discuss none of it with anyone other than us, and you will not speak of it where anyone else could hear. Understood?"

"Yes milord."

"Good, now it's time for you to get dressed and head back to soldier country. Oh, and you don't have to stay relaxed anymore." I can  _ see _ tension returning to her limbs, though less than there was when she got here, and her eyes widen.

"You can-"

"An effect of the collars we might have to discuss with Eta at some point, but discussing it with  _ anyone _ is my decision, not yours. You are to keep my secrets  _ secret _ ."

"I am to be your slave then." Her face scrunches up a bit.

"Is that so bad? Perfect health, a master you actually  _ desire _ , unaging life judging by what it's doing to Thalia. Oh, and best of all. I  _ order you _ to  **_never_ ** fall to chaos. No matter what temptations or coercion the Great Enemy brings, you will stand strong."

Her look of trepidation fades, to be replaced with wide-eyed wonder. "Will that work?"

"I  _ really hope so _ . But I also pray The Emperor never needs you to find out." I have to take my hand off her shoulder to make the Aquila, hooking one heel under the bed to keep myself from falling back. She returns the gesture and I put my hand back on her shoulder. "Once more collars are deployed, I'll see about getting you transfered to my personal guard. You're mine and I don't want you dying in some boarding action."

"Yes milord."

I let my hand slide off her shoulder to prop myself up against the mattress instead, and watch from there as she gets up and limps a couple times on the way to the door. There's a dollop of cum starting to trail down her thigh, and as she starts getting dressed she notices it. Scooping it up on her fingers, she pops it into her mouth and looks at me as she swallows. That's probably a good sign, as she could have easily just wiped it up with her panties. They're going to end up soaked as she walks back to her quarters anyway. As she opens the door to leave I call out "Emperor guide your steps." and she turns around to say "And yours, milord." before leaving.

As soon as the door closes I'm attacked, Marcella incredibly wound up even after, or maybe especially after, the orgasm I ordered her to have. Her lips frantically attack mine and she grinds against me, her skirts still in the way. Her hands slide against the sheets and around under my back where her fingers curl, starting to scratch practically right off the bat. Her legs straddle mine as much as she can in that dress and she whines needily all throughout.

My own hands come up to cradle the back of her head and grope her butt, enjoying the armful of very eager wife I currently have. Her dress is in the way though, so eventually I have to break the kiss and turn my head to the side to get a few words out. "Stop.-" She freezes in place, still with the whimpering sound, which gets even needier. "Get out of that dress, then continue."

It's  _ amazing _ what motivation can do. She looks down at herself, warp eye open, and swipes a hand down the front of the dress, sturdy cloth parting like tissue as she strikes its fate. I can't help but laugh at the abuse of what I've been teaching her, but it's also  _ incredibly _ hot. The remaining scraps fall to the bed around us, and she rises up on her knees just enough to get my head between her lips before sinking back down with a cry of passion. She sets a frantic pace right off the bat, her hips writhing against mine while she chews on my collarbone in between my pulling her into a kiss.

The earlier events clearly have her well and truly primed, her first orgasm washing over her less than thirty seconds later, followed by another, and another. Her frantic pace and chain-fire climaxes have me a little worried she's going to tap out before I cum again, but as the pleasure mounts, as her tight pussy writhes around me, I realize that's not really a risk. It's a frantic few minutes before I'm holding her hips down against her attempts to continue grinding, keeping her steady as I flood her depths with seed.

As she finally calms down, I just hold her against me and stroke her back, her hair draped partially across my face. "I guess you  _ really _ liked watching."

"Very much."

**Segmentum Obscurus**  
**Calixis Sector**  
**Halo Stars?**  
**The Warp**  
**Heavy Transport - Writ of Surplus**  
**9.216.736M41**  
**Est. arrival in Witch-Cursed System 9.276.736M41**

I'm just getting dressed the morning after sampling my sergeant when my pendant buzzes a little to inform me that Eta has indeed collared another test subject. Checking the menu I can only assume they wanted a comparison for the changes to Ligia, considering the new top-level pair of tabs in the slaves menu. Well, four, but only two are active. Male, Female, Sexless, and Multiple.

That last is concerning given  _ Slannesh _ , though I suppose the third at least could just be where many members of the Mechanicus will go when they start wearing them. Poking at the selections, I find another sergeant at arms, the same rank as Ligia, same fitness requirements by the regs. Presumably as similar as Eta could find on the other side of the gender divide. My own knowledge of experimental procedure conflicts with how they're doing it, but then again, I'm used to times and places where you can simply create enough of whatever you're testing to do a proper double-blind test. Sure, we  _ can _ do that here too, but Eta doesn't know that, they're trying to extract as much information as they can from as few collars as possible, because they don't  _ know _ how many they'll get.

As I'm looking through the sliders, a prompt appears that's definitely going to make life interesting both now and moving forward into the future.

This slave appears incompatible with your orientation.

Gender reassignment in progress.

Checking through his sliders, and switching back and forth to my own tab, I find that several sliders  _ I _ have are missing for him. The command system appears to already be treating the new capture as female, without so much as asking me first. "Oh frak." I mutter, searching through the menus to no avail. I'm sure there's something there somewhere, but I don't know where. I need some way to set better defaults, or some way to assign someone I can trust to handle it for me. Several someones, so they can take it in shifts. It doesn't take long to set the sliders however I want… except for in one specific detail. It isn't even one I'd mind if I weren't trying to spread these out as a method of protecting humanity.

With a heavy sigh I hit the 'set sliders to current' button, mourning the  _ missing _ sliders I really wish were there. 'She' will just be a giant of a woman, with not much up top. Unless 'she' expresses a desire for more anyway. I'm going to have to spend a few hours second shift hunting for a slider to turn down her 'lust for master'. That bit specifically will torpedo my hopes if I can't turn it down, Inquisitors might be willing to turn into women for protection from Chaos, they might be willing to put up with my orders being able to command them. They won't put up with being unable to do their jobs because they're thirsty for a man sectors away.

These things are supposed to be for harem building. Shouldn't there be a harem guard option?

* * *

"You are distracted." Graig points out partway through the lesson. I'm trying to predict the current shifts he's about to sail through, and while I'm at least getting them mostly right, I'm doing so less quickly than normal. "Is it your pet armswoman?"

"Not really. Sort of?"

"Coherent."

"It's complicated, but I think I need to figure it out myself."

"Very well. So long as you don't imperil our good name, or bring harm to Marcella, I will leave your thoughts to you. However…" He leans toward me, his massive bulk pressing me up against one of the control consoles. His hand gestures as though he's going to tell me something quietly in confidence. Instead he  _ shouts _ ********FOCUS BOY!!!** **The Navigator's Throne is no place for distraction!!!** **

"GAH!" I have nowhere to recoil  _ to _ , not pressed in here with him, but I manage to knock my head against one of the overhead displays and recoil from that as well. "Was that necessary Uncle?"

" _ Entirely _ ." He turns back to his navigation, watching the opposing teeth of the Maw in the distance, threading the needle between them. "You're still young. The hardest thing you remember experiencing still changes every year. Every new challenge is the greatest ever, but it's only  _ your _ greatest ever. Every problem you have, someone else has had before. Some failed, some succeeded, and now no one remembers any of their names."

"I doubt it." I mutter, mostly to myself. His laughter indicates I wasn't as quiet as I thought.

"Of course you do, you're sixteen. Now back to work,  _ and focus this time! _ "

…

…

My anxiety returns when it's time for marksmanship practice later on, bad enough that 'Cella notices, but I push through because when you're most stressed is  _ exactly _ the perfect time for it. Since that's the only state in which you'll actually need it.

My accuracy suffers, the fate-shattering effects on my targets is impaired, and the air of surprise from the armsmen practicing around us does nothing to help my mood. Ligia would have needed to be blind to miss it, and she's certainly not, so when I feel the slight rustle of a scrap of flimsy among the coins she hands me at the end I'm not terribly surprised. I nod politely to her as usual, and try to give her a half smile where the rest of the room can't see, but I can tell she's not terribly reassured. I have the words to convince her, but not without causing issues with the others in the room.

I guess it's the same principle as pleasing all the people all the time. Sometimes the words you need for one thing, you can't use because of something else. She's left feeling like it's something to do with  _ her _ last night, even though that's not the case at all. I need to fix that somehow, but… how to do it without exposing our impropriety?

I'm still wondering the answer to that when I open her hastily scrawled note. It's about what I suspected, an apology for whatever she did wrong, and a request for a second chance. It's unsigned, but that's just good practice, and I already know who it's from. Tucking it back into my pocket with the coins, I resolve to figure something out. Yet another thing on the list. Visit Eta to hear the latest, some of which I already know, spend some time trying to figure out how to coerce the chokers into doing what I  _ want _ , spend some time fitting my plans around my actual capabilities, and of course I need to spend time with Marcella.

* * *

"Ah, Lord Cassini, excellent. As you can see I've recruited another test subject. He was the closest male match I could find to Ligia's pre-collaring physical fitness. The initial results are moderately concerning, but-"

**"What do you mean** **_moderate_ ** **?"** His sudden shout makes Marcella start, and I glare at him for startling my pregnant wife… Who cares if there's no actual risk at this stage, it's still my prerogative.

"##Sergeant##, calm down." Eta instructs. "You are providing a great service to the Omnissiah, and you are more likely to survive than the type of service that involves being shot by His enemies." The sergeant grumbles but shuts up, though that might have more to do with the mechadendrite that's pointing an ominous collection of tools at him.

"What happened?" I ask, despite already having some idea.

"His primary sexual characteristics have reduced in size by twenty percent in the last fraction, and he has begun producing high levels of female hormones. Structural scans show growth plates along his pelvis and certain portions of his skull. Blood calcium levels are holding steady at the highest safe concentration."

"Err… Meaning?"

"He appears to be in the process of becoming she."

**"Frakkin-^*(@!#% &(#$!%(^%!@#$&("** One of the instruments Eta has pointed at the sergeant starts buzzing, and his continued swearing becomes unintelligible. He stands up from the examination table and raises a hand toward the Medicae. The following flurry of mechadendrites is a bit horrifying to watch, despite managing to avoid any significant harm. Needles appear in his skin in a number of places, some injecting one fluid or another, and he's quickly rendered immobile.

"Apologies young lord. It seems I must restrain him. The blood cleansing properties of the collars renders sedatives ineffective extremely quickly. Thalia is in the next room if you wish to see her progress."

"Excellent suggestion." Marcella jumps on the chance to exit the immediate scene. She'll cheerfully splatter daemons across the gellar field whenever one gives her the chance, but human-on-human violence disturbs her. Standing with her, I follow her out that infirmary room and into the next one over. The main area of the facility is wide open, with the wall against the hallway being just across from the officers gym. Everything's set up to quickly dismantle the walls between and turn both into a mass-casualty facility, but I hope I never see it like that.

When the door to Thalia's current room opens, she looks over at us with a smile, her empty sockets filled with some dark glossy material, as though her eyes were simply pitch-black from edge to edge. "Milord!" She greets excitedly, smiling to show a row of even white teeth where before they were badly decayed with age. Her skin is still a little wrinkled, but looks firm and supple now, and she has five, six? centimeters of raven-black hair on her head. The wispy white she had before appears to have been trimmed off, leaving a rather cute pixie cut with only her new hair remaining. She looks early forties now, still much older than Marcella or I, but hale and healthy.

Setting aside her book, which on closer examination is in braille, she jumps to her feet and skips over to us, displaying mannerisms more at home on someone who might look even younger. "I should like to hug you as a show of gratitude if it's permitted." I glance at Marcella, nodding when she does, and receiving a crushing hug when I do. "Thank you!" There's, well,  _ not _ surprising strength in her limbs. Merely human-maximum for a rather thin woman. The genuine gratitude is particularly nice since as far as I know the chokers don't have anything to do with that.

Hugging her back, I squeeze tight and then let go, which she takes as a cue to let go herself, and gets a hug from Marcella when she does. As they let go I can see a bit of extra moisture along the surface of whatever Thalia has in her eye sockets. "How are you feeling?"

"Indescribable!" She exhults. "I can't remember ever feeling this hale. Maybe I was as a mere girl, but I had nothing to compare then. Now I do and it's the second greatest change I've ever experienced."

"The first being His Light?" I venture a guess, and she nods.

"I know you can see him from this far, but to be that close…" She makes the sign of the Aquila, eyelids closed over the black.. stones? Her face a picture of rapture. "It was the greatest pain of my life, but worth it for the chance to feel his light so strongly upon my soul." She sighs contentedly. "My mind must have been on the edge of failure when Eta placed your collar on my neck, even that bond to His Light is stronger than it was."

I refrain from telling her how that  _ actually _ works, she might literally explode if I did. Psykers can do that.

**Segmentum Obscurus**  
**Calixis Sector**  
**Halo Stars?**  
**The Warp**  
**Heavy Transport - Writ of Surplus**  
**9.219.736M41**  
**Est. arrival in Witch-Cursed System 9.276.736M41**

I snort lightly at the labels in one section, musing that either tvtropes is much more multiversal than I'd thought in that previous life, or it's somehow a manifestation of a deeper truth… Either that or the labels are being pulled from my memories, because they're kind of a mix between High Gothic and M3 English.

"Did you figure it out?" Marcella asks sleepily, her head resting on my arm and hers thrown over my chest. My hand that isn't on her butt is fiddling with my pendant as I continue browsing the settings.

"Not really." My smirk comes through in my voice. "I found the libido slider though, which will  _ help _ ." After a few seconds I can't hold back the snicker.

"Why is that amusing?"

"It isn't.  _ Yours _ is." Turning my head to look at hers, I get a close-range view of her turning a lovely red, trying to match her hair. She thumps my chest with one petite fist, and the bed bounces a bit. It wasn't exactly designed for super-soldier strength, but it's solid enough for it anyway. "Should I turn it up?"

"What!? No!"

"Down?"

"NO!" Laughing at her vehemence, I pull her more of the way on top of me to bring her face in kissing range and peck at her nose. I don't think I'd want to change her libido anyway, but teasing her about it is good fun.

"It's actually only two percent higher than mine. Pretty good match wouldn't you say?" She thinks about that for a few seconds, then nods and leans in for a proper kiss, pouting when I pull away after only ten seconds or so. "There's actually several controls in that section. I'm not sure what all of them do, but I think I can at least make it so someone can settle for another wearer if they can't have me." I could tell her there's an 'It's okay if it's you' slider in the orientation section, but she wouldn't get the reference.

"Oh." Nestling her head in under my chin, she asks "So that poor man can still chase women?"

"Assuming he- _ she _ chased them before, yeah." Scratching my chest next to where her shoulder lays, I continue. "She might have kind of a limited target pool though."

"Why?"

"What do you think of inviting Thorn to our bed?"

"Throne! The thought of you collaring her…" She moans and grinds her hips against me slowly, though I suspect she'll speed up if left to her own devices.

"What about without collaring her?"

"What!? Why would you do that!? No!" I just give her a significant look, meeting her eyes and raising my eyebrows. "...Oh." Her sharp mind doesn't take long to make the connection. "She'll need someone she can collar, and a choker to do it with."

"MmmHmm." Lightly stroking 'Cella's back with my fingers, I enjoy her slight squirming and limp relaxation in turns, playing with her by way of the skin of her back. By some measures the skill isn't mine, but by others it is. I remember paying for perfect instruction in the skill, it's just that the instruction was far better than any college course.

With my wife very pleasantly distracted, I reluctantly turn my thoughts back to the limitations I haven't figured a way to bypass. It's nowhere near a perfect solution, not even really a  _ solution _ . But if I can at least make it possible for them to find satisfaction with another test subject, it'll mean I can proceed with my overall plans.

If it works then… Well, lesbian couples/trios/poly…pods? Is that the right word? Anyway, sets of lesbians I can tap for a booty-call when I'm in the area is at least easier to manage  _ logistically _ , even if many of the political implications are the same. For individuals like inquisitors that might make the difference, they have the power to ignore some of the politics, if they want to, but logistical issues would be a dealbreaker. With a sigh I grab a couple more of the chokers out from under my pillow. They're not  _ really _ there until I reach for them, except they are? Sadly I really need Eta to continue their experimentation. Maybe by the time we reach the other side of the passage they'll collar  _ themselves _ and suddenly become much more useful when I can read them in on the  _ existence _ of the controls.

"We should probably get out of bed."

"No time for sex?"

"We spent that time snuggling 'Cella." I chuckle. "I'm tempted too, but we're studying with Silvea today… On the other hand..." She recognizes my tone of voice at the end, and looks my way with excited trepidation. "When we're halfway to the bridge, you are to climax without showing any outward sign of it."

"Trist!" The color floods back into her cheeks, but she's also rubbing her thighs together now.

…

…

The sudden tightening of her hand on my arm notifies me of exactly when my order hits, and I glance down at my lovely wife walking at my side. She's rather flushed, but has been since we left our quarters. Her eyes are dilated when she glances back up at me, and her lips part temptingly. All of that is fairly ordinary for her, but the sudden shortening of her steps isn't, nor are the goosebumps rising on her arm. "Are you well?"

"Fine!" She squeaks, simultaneously glaring at me with aroused indignation. An odd combination in a glare, but she manages to make it work.

* * *

"Three-quarters second shift."

The note I pressed into her hand when she brought me the rake earlier should have been clear enough given our previous encounter at that time a few days ago, but the plan this evening is less for pleasure and more about setting straight the apparent misunderstandings. Pleasure may follow, but only after we've had a chance to speak.

This time I'm waiting by the door to avoid another Silvea interrupt. She's theoretically sleeping right now, paying the backlog for drawing endurance from the warp a bit too much to spend more time with Graig. I don't  _ trust _ her sleep though, so I'm taking no chances.

When the door chime sounds, I wait a few seconds just to make sure it's not obvious I was waiting at the door, and then open it to let her in. "Sergeant." Stepping aside, I gesture her inside and close the door again. "Shall we?" This time I lead her to the sitting room instead of my bedroom, gesturing for her to take a seat where there's a couple comfortable chairs corner-to-corner. Marcella is already seated, and there is no third chair at that particular kaf table, but I just pick her up and sit down with her in my lap, positioned so we're both facing Ligia.

The woman's incredibly nervous, fearful even. "Relax a moment." The command has its desired effect this time, and while her tension starts rising again almost immediately, it at least starts from a much lower level. "My abnormal performance the day after your last visit had nothing to do with you, and everything to do with a piece of information I had learned about these chokers. By now I expect you are aware of Eta's most recent test subject?"

She nods, and her returning tension settles down. "I had searched for, and failed to find, a command to cause his choker to leave him male. The machine spirit presented a complaint that a male does not match my sexual preferences. I made what adjustments I could to keep her new body closer to the old, but I was unable to find a control rite to what I wished. Many will still regard the beneficial effects as worthwhile, but it does significantly reduce the value of something I expected to restore the fortunes of my house." With a shrug I finish on "Instead I must be satisfied with more quickly restoring our numbers."

"I… I do not know your plans, but I'm happy you weren't displeased with me milord."

"Oh no, you were quite satisfactory. I realized later that my command to relax had impaired your performance, but even so my wife and I were quite pleased. You needn't worry about that."

"Thank you milord."

"Now, if there is anything else you desire to discuss, we can continue this here, but then we will be taking you to our bedroom again."

  
  


"Milord, I…" She trails off, blushing.

"Yes?"

"I would like to apply for your personal guard sooner than you mentioned before." She takes a quick breath at the end, and looks like she's bracing for a let down, but I don't really have an objection.

I do, however, have a question. "Why?"

"My quarters will be closer." Her cheeks redden, and she quickly presses forward. "I can bring my squad, collar them for you. I'm certain Armsman Katiio will gladly trade his manhood for access to better weapons. Klute and Bergfalk will take more convincing, but Fensil wanted you before I did."

Considering that for a moment, I nod. "Run it by Eta. If your squad agrees, they'll want to collect data on the effects, and I want them to have the opportunity. You may tell your squad the portions Eta currently knows, I need that to be public to avoid the Mechanicus declaring the chokers heretical anyway."

"Thank you milord!" she shares that strangely cute scarred smile. It's slightly more symmetric now with the muscles in her cheek in better condition, but surgery would be required to completely fix it, and I would honestly rather she keep it.

"You do have to tell them about what happened to Bendegar though. I'd rather not inflict a  _ surprise _ change on someone like that again." Shrugging, I add "I'm sure it will happen regardless as they're taken out into the Imperium, but I don't want to do it directly."

"Yes milord."

"Anything else?"

"No milord."

"'Cella?" The look she gives me when I look has a definite 'Get  _ on _ with it!' vibe. Smiling, I stand up with her still in my arms, and princess-carry her to our room, Ligia following close behind without instruction. When we get there I toss 'Cella onto the bed as she shrieks, then sit down to take my shoes off as she bounces to a halt. The snort of suppressed laughter from Ligia draws my attention. "I might be able to throw you like that too."

"Is that necessary milord?"

"No, but it might be fun." Catching Marcella's thrown slippers, I place them on the rack before standing up and turning to face her, heading over to sit next to her on the bed.

"If you wish." Ligia finishes taking off her boots while we watch, then approaches the bed. "Did you desire to, undress me yourself, as last time?"

"I might, unless Marcella wants a turn?" Glancing over I spot her red hair swaying side to side from a slight shake of her head. "Ok then." Standing up, I start to reach for her collar when she starts squirming slightly. "Something wrong?"

"No milord. Just nervous."

"Ah." My fingers undo the top button. "No forced relaxation this time. This time we'll get to see how you really are in bed."

Ligia turns red and looks away, speaking quietly. "I imagine it felt like one of those pleasure-spas on Scintilla milord. I could never afford to visit one, but..."

"Is that a good thing then?" I prod, working on the fourth button now, getting to the point where I can actually push her shirt open.

"Not at the cost of your pleasure milord."

"That's not the question I asked." Pushing her shirt aside, I find another of the 41st century sports bras. I doubt she has any other kind. "If I wanted to reward you for something, would that be a reward?"

"With respect-" her voice catches when I flick a thumb over the bump her nipple is poking in the bra. "I would prefer better equipment for my squad."

"I'm not going to skimp on equipment for my guard, that would be foolish." There's a hint of reprimand in my voice, and I take my hands off her chest and put them on her shoulders, looking her in the eyes. "Forcing you to stay relaxed the first time was a mistake born of incomplete understanding of this miracle of technology I lucked into. It's not a mistake I intend to make again, but I  _ could  _ do it deliberately. Answer honestly, would that be a reward?"

"..." Her cheeks redden, voice seemingly caught in her throat, and then she nods.

"Good. In that case, when you go to bed tonight, while you're trying to fall asleep you will relax completely, experience a weak climax that makes up for it by being five minutes long, and then fall asleep at the end. You will make no sounds during that time that could alert someone to what's happening.

"That works?" She asks, jaw dropping.

"Very very well." Marcella pipes up, the smile audible in her tone. "You don't even have to be  _ awake _ for him to sneak in orders for surprise pleasure." When I look over my shoulder she's pretending to glare at me, but the memories of various times I've done that to her are keeping a smile on her lips.

Pushing Ligia's shirt off her shoulders, I quickly strip her standard issue support garment up over her head, actually getting active assistance this time instead of passive compliance. Once it's free she arches her back, eyes glancing between my face and her own chest, clearly hoping for a repeat of my licking and sucking. Grinning, I take a half step to the side before leaning down, and put my arm around Marcella when she goes for Ligia's other nipple. My other arm goes around Ligia's back to hold her close while I enjoy licking and nibbling her sensitive nub. 

Her surprised gasp when we both start in on her chest is replaced with a series of pleasured moans. Marcella might not have the unnatural skill with a woman's body I do, but she  _ is _ a woman, with a certain inherent understanding of what feels good as a result. I'm not sure how long we carry on like that, but eventually Marcella pulls away with a declaration of "Next."

Standing up straight, I find our sergeant's eyes a bit glazed, but she comes back to her senses after a few seconds. "Milady?" She asks.

"Your turn to watch this time." 'Cella informs her cheerfully. "And then you can lick him clean."

"Milord, I apologize, but I'm not skilled with my mouth. I-"

"Don-" I cut myself off. "You needn't worry. One of the upgrades you got from the collar was flexibility right?

"Yes."

"Same thing makes your throat stretchier. I'm sure you already know not to bite. Also, you  _ will _ enjoy it."

She gulps. "Yes milord."

"You can use the same chair 'Cella did last time, or you can sit on the edge of the bed, or I suppose you could stand or kneel on the floor if you wanted." That's the point where 'Cella decides she's waited long enough, and twists around, pulling on my shoulder with her foot against the back of mine. I could probably escape the throw, but the bed's right behind me and I've certainly thrown  _ her _ onto the bed enough. Her happy giggle when I let her do it is  _ entirely _ worth the minor indignity, and then she climbs on.

Having undressed herself while I undressed Ligia, she's left in only her stockings, the Scintillan lace around the top deceptively delicate looking, and a lovely contrast against her pale skin. Straddling me and smiling down, she waves her head around to tickle my chest with her hair. Or try to anyway, it's too long for that now, and growing a little faster every day, headed for her ankles because I wanted to see her like that.

Ligia takes a seat on the bed next to my head, where she can look between us to see where we're joined. Marcella's blush is halfway down her chest being watched like this, but she's also literally dripping on me. Reaching between us I line myself up for her to slide down with a whimpering moan. Soaked as she is, she's also unusually tight and I'm unusually thick, a combination that forces her to stretch oh-so-wonderfully every time. As she sinks down, I reach up and flip most of her hair over to the side that doesn't block Ligia's view, and then reach up with both hands to start playing with 'Cella's nipples… I wonder if the collar can start her lactating early? Or… huh, I could turn anyone into a perfectly loyal and obedient wet-nurse.

Shoving the thought aside for the moment, I continue playing with my lovely wife's nipples while she wallows in the stretching sensations that mark the beginning of our every encounter. Goosebumps roll up her arms and legs before fading, then appearing again when she starts to move. After a minute or two she's ready to start moving more quickly and begins bouncing up and down. Moving my hands to her waist, I help out, not that she needs it.

Looking up, I find Ligia staring raptly, her eyes wandering here and there, her hand starting to move toward us, then reversing, then starting again. "'Cella, it looks like our Ligia wants to touch."

"N-not this.. Time." She pants, her voice rising into a squeak and then sinking back down into a moan while she trembles in place, apparently talking about how we're being watched pushed her over. Taking a stronger grip, I force her to keep moving, lifting her petite form up and down and rocking my hips in counterpoint. Her clenching tries to stop me, but she's slick enough to make it an impossible task. Instead it forces her pleasure a little higher so she's left panting breathlessly at the end.

I give her a half-minute to recover or so, then start thrusting again, enjoying the sounds of pleasure being voiced right beneath my ear as she lays atop me. Reveling in the slick velvet heat inside her, not quite vise tight, but close and the way she trembles is oh so lovely. Without really holding back I'm not far behind her, and soon enough I'm filling her up as I have so many times before. Her smile when she feels the liquid heat is a glorious accompaniment to the pleasure rolling over me, and I drag her into a kiss.

Marcella rolls off of me with a lewd schlurk from our joining and lays there on her side breathing heavily. I look up at Ligia and start to sit up, only for her to lean down toward my cock. For all that she's 'not skilled', she clear has  _ some _ practice, and she starts by just taking the head into her mouth and holding it for a minute, sucking gently. It takes me a bit to realize what she's doing, and I hurry to reassure her "You don't have to wait like that, I'm good to go." at that point she starts pushing forward, tongue languidly sweeping from side to side. Next to us Marcella is watching avidly, on hand swirling around her clit and pushing her toward that precipice again.

"Do you like that?" she asks. "Tasting his wife on him? Cleaning him off? Do I taste good?"

"Hnngmmhhgk!"

Ligia moans and sputters as she takes me deeper, sounding and feeling wonderful as I get closer to her throat, recoiling once when I reach it and backing off. "Don't gag." That should help, and indeed it does. As my head makes contact with the back of her throat there's a slight quiver to the muscles, a lovely fluttering around me, but she doesn't shudder and heave. Instead I get to enjoy her throat stretching wide, the different texture an excellent contrast to a womans' pussy. She swallows once and shivers above me, then starts swallowing again and again, forcing herself farther down until I can feel her chin in my pubes. It's absolutely mindblowing, and not at all what I expected from someone who's 'not skilled'. If she needed air it might be a problem, but instead I'm treated to a woman so eager to suck my cock that she's face-fucking  _ herself _ onto it.

"Are- are you  _ climaxing _ with him in your throat?" 'Cella asks. She's felt the same thing, but with a specific order to cum. I just ordered Ligia to enjoy it. Whatever the case, she's absolutely vacuuming the cum out of me, and it's not long before I find my hands moving to her head on their own, holding her down while I fire down her throat, the tingling pleasure of the experience curling my toes.

When I let go Ligia pulls away and scoots around so she can lay next to me opposite Marcella. "That-" She starts hoarsely and clears her throat a few times. "That order to enjoy it milord, may I request you order I  _ always _ enjoy that with you?"

Still panting myself, I wave a hand at her. "You will always enjoy giving me oral sex."

"Can I-?"

"You will also always enjoy giving me oral sex."

**Segmentum Obscurus**  
**Calixis Sector**  
**Halo Stars?**  
**The Warp**  
**Heavy Transport - Writ of Surplus**  
**9.225.736M41**  
**Est. arrival in Witch-Cursed System 9.276.736M41**

It isn't until a couple days later that I feel my pendant buzz against my skin again. It's while I actually have my hands on the controls though, so there's no chance to deal with it immediately. The Maw is all around us and the safe path is, relatively speaking, hair thin. Silvea is standing just behind me with her hands reaching around to hover over mine, ready to take the helm the instant she spots any mistake. Sweat is practically pouring off of me, and I'm glad dripping sweat doesn't bother my third eye, as I've been forced to close my flesh-eyes for lack of time to wipe them clear.

My aunt and uncle can man the throne through here while remaining almost perfectly calm, even predicting the storms far enough out to step away from the controls for a few seconds at a time. A skill I'm still working on, but one that's mandatory for proper shift changes. Either the navigator swapping in or the one swapping out must be capable, or the shift may not change. Particularly violent storms have been known to kill our kind through exhaustion, our gifts able to keep us going full-steam well past the point of death by exhaustion, eventually ending up with… Well, the Navigators Thrones are based on the same technology as His Throne, or possibly the other way around. No surviving records mention which one He created first.

I suspect the pendant could keep me intact if that were to happen, but I'm glad my aunt is here anyway. If anything I'd be unable to handle is approaching I'm certain she'll step in to handle it. Meanwhile though, I'm very much in the hot-seat, the throne plugged into my spine this time. It's not the first time I've had the Writ of Surplus brushing against my mind, just the first in a storm, but the machine spirit doesn't trust me yet the way it does my aunt and uncle. It's judgement weighing down on me doesn't help the stress.

The average crewman has absolutely no idea how frantic the action is up here, the maneuvers we're making well-damped by the sheltering hand of the Writ of Surplus' machine spirit. It feels almost like a  _ very large _ herding dog, protective of its crew, eager to work, enduring hardship with its human masters. I'm sure the Engineseers have some rite or another to keep it from crossing the line into Abominable Intelligence, a very real threat in a universe that contains chaos. A mind without a soul is incredibly vulnerable to their interference… Gellar fields actually can protect them, but if they ever fall that's it for that AI. Heretical knowledge, but not uncommon among Navigators. The threats of the Warp are our domain, even more in some ways than the Ordo Malleus, we simply have a different remit with regards to handling them.

I- Wait. "Marcella, tempter to the starboard." As she deals with it, the tendency to wander fades. The chokers might protect from direct interference, but ask any M3 con man how much the lack of direct mind-control slows them down.

"Good. I was waiting for you to notice." Silvea says, and I realize her hands are actually resting atop mine. "You  _ have _ to be quicker than that."

"Sorry."

…

...

Water, sweet clear cold water. The Throne has a fluid hookup, but it's not the same, not nearly as refreshing as just guzzling down a litre of cold water once Silvea dismisses me from the lesson. Setting the bottle aside, I watch as she gets the ship onto a course that will stay safe for long enough, and steps back so Marcella can squeeze between her and the controls. The Throne stays connected to our aunt for Marcella's lesson, she won't be connecting to the throne at all for another year experienced-time. Instead she's restricted to using the manual controls with their slight input delay… A bit less than in the past though with her improved nerve conduction, but there's still a two hundred millisecond delay for peak-human. It's less important when you're pre-acting to an event, but if you're seeing a second out, it's still a fifth of your time window.

While she works, I tap my pendant to take a look. There on the list is one Jezmine Fensil, must be the Fensil Ligia mentioned as holding a candle even before I collared Ligia. I'm not sure  _ why _ she wanted me before, but I'm sure I can just ask. Either way, I hit the set-sliders-to-current control, then the button to limit her sliders to 100%, thank you Bendegar for opening up the  _ option _ of taking them higher, and flick all the relevant attributes all the way up. I really need a template for that.

Her image between the sliders and her sheet is reasonably attractive already, and I'm sure the general health upgrades and removal of minor imperfections will improve her still further. There's one scar I probably  _ will _ want removed eventually, it looks like a nasty shot down the back of her left shoulder, either from above or when she was laying down. The line of scar tissue runs from the corner of her shoulder and down across her back diagonally, skipping her spine and continuing for a few centimeters across her right buttock. It looks like whatever hit her went right through the original ball joint, and her left arm itself is a decent looking augmentic, though a really nice one is on the cards when I get a chance. Something gilded maybe? And an inbuilt weapon would be good too.

The sheet on the other side of her image is something I still haven't figured out how to edit, and most of it's also hidden, but I might have some idea why she had a thing for me. It looks like she's the squad's designated markswoman, and I  _ have _ been playing warp-assisted-aimbot in front of her for a  _ while _ . Here's to the long history of showing off to attract mates I guess.

…

…

When Marcella finally finishes her turn, I'm shortly presented with an armful of sweaty teenage girl. "That was exhausting." She declares, hugging tight against me and nuzzling my chest. The deep sniff she takes precedes a sighing "Mmmmm… It's not fair you smell nice when you're all sweaty."

"So do you. Just wait, it'll get rank pretty soon." Wrapping my arms around her, I hold her tight while she relaxes from the stress of navigation.

"Yeah."

"Shower?"

* * *

"Milord?" Ligia intercepts us when we get to the firing range, far enough from the actual booths that there's no one else immediately at hand to hear. "Milady?"

"Yes?"

"I was correct about Katiio and Fensil. She is currently under observation with Eta, but they wanted him to wait until Bendegar is done in case there are 'unforeseen complications'. They declared they only have the observation capacity for so many large changes at one time. Klute and Berkfalk haven't refused outright, but I expect Katiio will be able to assist once he's changed. The whole squad agreed that being noble bodyguards is preferable to the front lines."

"Good work. Faster than I expected actually."

"Armsman." I greet as the door opens. The woman at the table looks over and jolts, scrambling to her feet with a salute while her fork clatters to the surface.

"Milord!" Her left arm is currently on the table next to her plate, and her already flushing cheeks deepen when I glance at it. In its place is some inscrutable device I presume came from Eta, various lights flashing here and there, with the cog prominently visible on the side. Cables run from it up to connections in the ceiling, which looks a bit awkward, but she seems to be moving okay regardless.

"As you were." I instruct, grabbing one of the other chairs in the room and spinning it around to take a seat. Marcella claims my lap, and Ligia grabs the third chair. It's basically a hospital room, so seating is limited, but there's enough. "When Ligia asked for permission to bring her squad, I expected it to take more than a couple days. That's pretty quick for such a life-changing decision when you're not being asked for an immediate answer." Her face reddens, but her eyes track to Marcella and then off to the side and down, averting her gaze without answering verbally.

"You're hoping he takes advantage." Marcella accuses.

"Milady! I don't! I mean! I wouldn't presume!" She starts trying to defend herself, eyes wide and waving the one hand she currently has.

"Even if she wanted you to?" I ask. Jezmine's denials cut off and she stares at me for a second, then Marcella, then her eyes slowly turn to a blushing Ligia.

"Sergeant… You magnificent  _ bitch _ ." She starts laughing, leaning back in her chair. "So how is he?" The exceedingly free words to her superior seem a bit brash, but we  _ are _ in her hospital room, so maybe rank falls away here in the military too?

"I couldn't say."

"Oh come on Sarge." She wheedles. "It's obvious  _ now _ ."

"I couldn't say."

"Sergeant, if Eta's examinations  _ haven't _ found my seed on you, they're not qualified as chiurgeon. The only person listening here already knows that much." Jezmine laughs even harder when I confirm her suspicions, and looks at Ligia expectantly once she's not shaking so much.

"Lady Marcella is exceedingly fortunate to have first claim to his attention."

"That's not how you make a girl jealous Sarge."

"But you already are. It would be redundant." I chuckle at Ligia's return fire, particularly the way it strikes true. Jezmine leans away and turns her head, the motion seeming incomplete until I realize her  _ left _ hand should have gone to cover her heart for the full gesture.

"Lewd taunts aside, my wife and I are here to check on you. We have Ligia's word you're worth bringing into our personal guards, but these collars haven't been used on someone with that degree of augmentics before. Thalia's eyes didn't return, but they were also burned out by The Emperor so that may not mean anything. We'll check with Eta on the way out, but is there anything you needed?"

Jezmine looks me in the eyes for a bit, then smiles. "Rumor has it that nobles don't care, I guess you're different."

I shrug. "I can't speak for others, but mistreating someone you're planning on keeping armed and at your back seems rather stupid." She laughs at that, then abruptly manages a straight face. "You're allowed to laugh when I'm sarcastic… Unless I'm dressing you down for something I suppose."

The laughter escapes again, less intense this time. "Thank you milord."

"How'd you hold it in that well anyway?"

She gestures to her shoulder with the missing arm. "The round that did this put bone fragments through my lung, it's augmentic too, and I have a switch to temporarily paralyze what's left of my diaphragm."

"Ah, for sharpshooting?" I guess.

"Yep." There's a bit of a pause, the woman apparently thinking, before she answers my initial question. "Something armored with ceramite instead of armaplas would be nice." She nods to her augmentic arm sitting on the table. "And a better sense of touch, that one only has the palm."

'Cella beats me to the answer there. "I'm certain we can arrange something. You already need a new one for formal occasions."

"Formal occasions?... Am I going to need etiquette lessons?" She looks like she's been shot in the puppy.

"Yes." 'Cella enjoyed telling her that far too much, though the way she deflates is pretty amusing.

…

…

"Subject Bendegar remains ##distressed. Changes are slowing, and I expect full cessation within two more days. She has expressed relief at the minimal development of mammary tissue, but her body fat is barely above the point where she would be ##infertile. If I believed there was### any chance of her consenting to ##carry a child I would express ###concern."

"But it's otherwise safe?"

"Likely, but two more days will be time well spent. Katiio will be ##easier to manage. His maleness is less important to him. A## superior body and better supplies ##is more important. He would have made an ##excellent techpriest were he found younger. The desire for ###perfection above aesthetics is admirable."

"Well, it'll be interesting to see if that makes a difference."

"##Indeed."

* * *

"Eta-623 had an interesting proposal for me today." Silvea informs us when we get home. "They want to test one of the collars on a mutant, but have little desire to waste one on something dredged up by the twistcatcher." When I just stare at her she raises a glass in my direction. The pale green of her preferred variety of tanna visible through the paper-thin porcelain.

"They want to try one on you."

"Indeed. Considering the Astropath's reduction in age I must admit I'm considering it. If the tests come back that she's also fertile again… Well, we may need artificial assistance, but I would like to contribute more to our rebuilding."

"Aunt, I-"

"Oh, not before you're qualified to take the helm of course, that risks leaving Graig the only qualified and able Navigator aboard, but you're learning fast enough I expect you'll be ready for anything short of a Maw crossing within half a year." She smiles, her forest of needle teeth glinting in the light. "I think I will participate, unless there's something you've kept from me about the collars? That Thalia seems quite enamored."

"I-" She interrupts me almost immediately. "Of course, if that's all you've been keeping back, it's hardly an obstacle. Your seed is the best in the House, and as much as I love him, Graig has not been capable in fifty years." Her smile is reminiscent of a cat with half a canary left. "Well, don't let me keep you, I'm sure my niece is getting impatient."

I'm sure both of us are a brilliant red on the way out of the room.

…

"No." Marcella declares once we're alone.

"Hmm?" I take a seat and start taking off my shoes.

"Not her." She clarifies.

"I'm kinda leery too, but Eta's right about test subjects and she's right about needing numbers."

"Oh, she can have a collar, she just can't join us in bed. Her teasing would get  _ even worse _ !"

I think about that for a minute while I finish getting undressed. "I could order her to stop, but I don't think she'd be  _ Silvea _ anymore if I did that." Flopping onto the bed with arms splayed, I look up at the canopy, as though the brocade pattern might have some answers hidden in the whorls.

"Yeah. At least you have half a year to find the right controls first…" Marcella climbs on top of me and straddles my waist. "...Aaand she utterly ruined the mood." Pouting, she lowers herself to just lay on top of me instead of mounting me.

"I could order you to get in the mood, but I can't do that for myself."

"No, but if you  _ did _ I bet I could  _ get  _ you in the mood with my mouth."

"...Marcella, get in the mood."

**Segmentum Obscurus**  
**Calixis Sector**  
**Halo Stars?**  
**The Warp**  
**Heavy Transport - Writ of Surplus**  
**9.232.736M41**  
**Est. arrival in Witch-Cursed System 9.276.736M41**

"You're certain about this Armsman? As far as we know so far this is permanent." The man sitting across the table in Eta's office is definitely a human mutt, the very dictionary definition of ambiguously brown from skin to eyes to hair. There's a few burn scars on his hands and arms, but nothing serious.

"Yes Sir." Lucius Katiio nods sharply, seemingly unphased by the pending changes to his life. "Never set much stock either side, and if jumping the fence gets me muscles 'n reflexes like  _ hers _ -" He nods to Ligia. "-damn straight I'm in. Name's not a problem, Lucius, Lucy. Maybe I can even use Marge on full auto from the hip, that'd be fun. Well, from my end." He grins. "The other end will be less fun."

"Marge?"

"'sault stubber, she doesn't see 's much range time as th' lasgun because she actually uses ammo, but she's a lot more fun."

With a laugh and a nod of agreement I pull out one of the chokers. "I can imagine."

He's already covered in adhesive sensors of various sorts courtesy of Eta, and when I hand it over he looks to the chiurgeon and waits for the nod of approval as the sensors start recording. Putting it around his neck and snapping the latch closed, he leans back in his seat. "Don't feel like much yet. Took a week for Bendegar yeah?"

"##Correct."

"Hey Sarge." He turns his head to look at her. "Week's pay says I'm a better looking woman than Benny."

"No bet."

"Aww."

Chuckling at the interplay, I stand up and lean over the table to offer a handshake. "Good to have you." Standing straight after the firm shake, I turn to Ligia "Marcella should be about done with the requisition of some of the personal guard quarters, shall we see what she's done?"

"Yes milord." With her following me, I head back out into the halls of the ship, turning toward home. As we walk I tap my pendant to bring up the display, checking out "Lucy's" settings and noting that the collars seem to have already adjusted for the declared name preference post-change. Unlike Bendegar I don't just set everything to current. I don't want the reports on these things to hold the change as always turning men into unattractive women, and in fact I'd prefer if they were mostly attractive… Sue me. I also don't just let the collar have its defaults either, the comically large chest and hips are just that, comical. Fortunately the majority of the sliders seem to default to 'same DNA, just swapping another X for the Y.' and the projected result looks like his sister once I deflate the proportions a bit. Her hair will apparently be a bit curly when grown out, which wasn't obvious from his standard issue crew cut.

…

…

"Hello my dear." I greet, finding Marcella indeed overseeing the rearrangement of what was previously being used for storage. It's across the hall and one door aft from the Navigator's quarters, the one  _ directly _ across already being occupied by our aunt's guards. Technically uncle Graig's too, but the man can handle himself well enough they mostly guard her.

"Trist!" Turning to face me, she waves me closer and pulls me down by the collar for a kiss when I reach her. Then she pulls a bit lower so she can whisper in my ear. "I want you to help her break in her new bunk." When she lets go she's blushing a lovely red, and I have to grin.

"You sure you don't want to do it?" I ask, and her eyes widen, blush deepening.

"Maybe?" She sounds uncertain but possibly tempted.

"Well, it'll have to wait either way, I don't think they're moving in until it's the full squad. Or until we know it won't be I guess." Holding her close, I rub her back a few times before letting her get back to issuing orders to the menials rearranging furniture and moving boxes out.

* * *

**Segmentum Obscurus**  
**Calixis Sector**  
**Halo Stars?**  
**The Warp**  
**Heavy Transport - Writ of Surplus**  
**9.244.736M41**  
**Est. arrival in Witch-Cursed System 9.276.736M41**

"I take it the process is smoother when they're not fighting it?" I ask, taking a seat at the table. Marcella takes the seat to my right instead of sitting in my lap given the presence of food. Thalia proceeds on to take the next seat down, while Ligia sits to my left. Eta, Jezmine, and 'Lucy' are already present.

"##Possible. Limited subjects, abnormal result is only ##single-point correlation. No### reliable evidence." Eta's place at the table is the only one without a nice meal before it, not for lack of offering either. The rest of the places hold a welcome/invitation feast for Ligia's squad, Eta present to answer questions I don't officially know the answers to.

"So." Lucy stands up when her remaining male teammates walk in. "Wha'dya think boys?" She cocks her hips and rests a hand on one, gesturing at herself with the other and grinning.

They can't stop staring at their formerly  _ male _ squadmate, but that's hardly a surprise, the newly minted woman is indeed  _ all woman _ so to speak. Even if I didn't let the collar inflate her tits and ass like balloons, the narrow waist stayed, and she pulled the knowledge of how to  _ move _ those hips from somewhere I'm also blaming on the collar… sample size of one admittedly, as the other subjects  _ already knew _ how to do that to one degree or another. Maybe it's just based on anatomy? No, because some women  _ don't _ .

"Conflicted, very conflicted." Harland Klute admits after a minute. "Civil war conflicted even."

"Civil war?" Marcella asks quietly.

"He's trying to be polite about it." I lean over to inform her. "There's an uprising in his pants."

"Ah." She reddens a bit and rolls her eyes.

"So!" Clapping my hands together, I gesture to the remaining open seats. "Have a seat." As they do, I, in the grand tradition of all meetings, start by stating the obvious. "You two have something of a choice to make. You already know the-" I glance at Lucy "-price, and  _ some _ of the benefits. Thalia, if you would stand please?" She clambers to her feet, nearly hopping off the floor with her restored youthful energy. "Why don't you tell them how old you are?"

"Two hundred fifty three. Lived, not calendar."

"Wheeeeeew…" Edwin Bergfalk whistles appreciatively. "That's some impressive juvenat. Did your collar do that?"

"It did." She twists her head side to side, rolls it around. "Hear that?"

"Hear what?"

"Exactly!!!"

"So it's not just the immediate enhancements, it's apparently the best juvenat treatment in the Imperium. Well, barring  _ His _ direct touch I imagine, I doubt it's as good as what Astartes get."

"Why do you want us so badly?.. milord. These collars must be worth… fortunes!"

"You  _ specifically _ ? Acquaintances from the shooting range are a good start for guards. I already know you shoot well, and I already trust you to walk behind me with a charged lasgun. As for the collars-" I spread my hands, palms up. "-Whoever I end up taking on as guards will get them. They're not a  _ reward _ for taking the job, they're part of the  _ equipment _ . Which will also include better weapons once we either have a chance to purchase them, or to visit a family armory.

"I won't censure you for refusing, but you will be left without a squad if you do. I imagine you'll be shuffled into another soon enough, but the rest of your squad would miss you."

"No I won't." Jezmine jabs, grinning at the pair

"Someone remind me to sentence her to extra etiquette lessons. Now, I've said my piece, let's eat." Removing the closh, I set it aside and smile at the grox steak with what is distinctly marsala sauce. Well, if you ignore the fact that it's made with Scintillan wine instead of Marsala wine

...

"I just wish I could'a got someone ta take my bet." Lucy gripes at one point, cutting herself another bite of steak.

"Lucy, you were  _ already _ a better looking woman than Bendegar." Jezmine points out with a grin.

"Hey now, I knew 't was a suckers bet, just wish I'd found the sucker."

"Do you know what made the difference?" Edwin asks.

"##Speculation only. Bendegar fought futily, #Katiio accepted. Single point correlation, ##insufficient subjects."

"Hmm, could someone sleep through it? With drugs you think?"

"Unlikely. Collars## purge toxins rapidly."

"Not booze!" Jezmine again. I kind of wonder when she tested that. "And no hangover."

"So I could be drunk for it?"

"That doesn't seem like a-" I start to answer only to be interrupted by Eta. "####Valid data point. Unknown ##risks."

"Hmmm."

**Segmentum Obscurus**  
**Calixis Sector**  
**Halo Stars?**  
**The Warp**  
**Heavy Transport - Writ of Surplus**  
**9.258.736M41**  
**Est. arrival in Witch-Cursed System 9.276.736M41**

With nine collars in play now, there's much less pressure to  _ use use use _ or lose out on accumulating more. A pressure I couldn't exactly explain without explaining that I really have been keeping more details back. Oh, I'm still losing out, anything less than one per day will, but I have a larger buffer now. I can leave four with Eta and keep five in reserve, fully expecting that more captures will just randomly appear. Well, hardly random, I'm sure Eta is doing things very purposefully. Once it's clear that we have access to hundreds of them I'm sure randomness will play a role.

In the long run a few missed collars won't matter that much, as long as I have  _ one _ unused I can ramp back up again, but the more I can supply to Eta, the more likely they are to collar themselves for the sweet sweet data… And the less likely they'll collar Aunt Silvea in the interests of avoiding waste. My shudder at the thought wakes Marcella, and she murmurs sleepily in my arms. "Hrm?"

"Just thinking." I reassure her. "Remembered Eta's offer to our aunt." The shudder that runs through her indicates that any reassurance has now been wasted. "The more collars Eta has access to, the less they have to care about waste, and the less likely she gets one… I really hope." I sigh. "Eventually yeah, I don't want her ending up stuck down in the Immaterium when she dies, but…"

"Yeah. Breakfast?"

"Sure." A thought occurs to me, and I drag her back against me as she starts to move away. "By the way, for the rest of the day every time I kiss your nose you will feel as much pleasure as if I were kissing your aroused clit."

"..What? Trist! But you do that all the time!"

"Yeah?"

"I'm going to be a mess!"

"Yep."

"You're  _ terrible _ ! Ligia's squad is moving in later. What kind of impression is that going to make!?"

"These  _ are _ the same people who've seen me tease you mercilessly at the shooting range to make it more difficult. They'll just think I've been teasing you like I normally do." When I let go, she squirms just a few inches away, just enough room to twist around to pout at me. So of course I kiss her nose. The fluttering eyelids and slight catch in her breath are everything I hoped, and when I pull back she gulps. Her eyes glimmer in the dim light of the room, promising all sorts of mischief in retaliation… Perfect. Leaning in for another kiss, I immediately roll off the other side of the bed before she can retaliate, laughing all the way.

* * *

"Captain." I greet, sitting down in the chair in front of her desk. "You didn't exactly set an agenda, so I'm not certain-" I let the sentence trail off leadingly. I've only been in her office a couple of times while in realspace. In the Immaterium our paths don't often cross, and the request for a meeting wasn't exactly the most encouraging thing.

"You and Eta have been experimenting on my crew."

"Ah."

"So far you've stayed away from critical personnel, even the Astropath was on her last legs. Make sure you keep it that way, and we can make a deal." She smirks, not the brilliant smile I'd rather see.

"I'm listening."

"You will grant house Winterscale an Option on one collar immediately as recompense for the unasked poaching, and continued access to any findings you share with the Mechanicus."

"I'd argue the relative value of archeotech like the collars against the few armsmen I poached,-"

"And an astropath. They're harder to replace."

"I doubt she had another transmission in her, but I'll concede that point, provided you include their equipment."

"Will it even fit?"

"I'm sure ship's stores has fitting armor. Their previous issue carapace can be returned. In principal we can call that even on the premium, provided the option price is suitable. To all appearances they're a man-made equal of the halo devices."

"Naturally. My negotiating power is limited without prior approval from Calligos, but I imagine we can strike some deal."

"Isn't that the point of options though? He doesn't have to use it if he doesn't like your bargain?"

"True, but that doesn't mean I'll go easy on you."

"Naturally. For this first option though… If he ever has the opportunity, I want Chorda,  _ alive _ ."

"That's a deal you'll have to strike with him personally. I know he has something special planned for her, but not what."

"I'm sure he does."

…

Standing up and offering a handshake, I tell her "I'd say it was a pleasure doing business with you, but you wouldn't believe me." It gets a chuckle out of her, and I turn to leave her office, my copy of the deal we hashed out firmly in hand.

Winterscale has options on five collars in exchange for first refusal on all his navigation needs for twenty years each. Not that we have the numbers to  _ fulfil _ those needs just yet, but we will. I don't think Captain Thorn considered what the collars I keep are going to do for my house's fertility. She probably expects that such a diminished house can be easily kept off of any ships Winterscale wanted just by offering other ships first until we were tapped out.

As premium on those options, I can have Eta, three more astropaths, two rather nice Conversion Fields, and a Stalker Pattern bolt rifle from the Angevin crusade. I can also have up to a hundred ratings and petty officers, so long as I don't interfere with the functioning of the ship. I doubt we'll need that many, but I'm sure Eta will be happy.

I'm pretty sure she thinks she got away with highway robbery, but I  _ know _ I did. Eta hasn't discovered the obedience routines yet after all. I want those collars out there, I want them on the rich and the powerful. So if they never exercise the options, I got free stuff. If they do, I score a coup for the house, and I get five collars sold by  _ Calligos Winterscale _ . That might be worth a damn  _ planet _ considering his customer base, literally if he sells to a planetary governor or something.

* * *

"Milady! You look like you just finished a session at the range." Jezmine greets when we enter their new barracks unannounced. The grin on her lips is quite telling. "Has your lord husband gotten an early start distracting you?" When I grin while Marcella glares, she starts giggling. Wrapping an arm around my lovely wife, I hold her close while our new bodyguard gets over it.

"I'm sorry, I had the impression you were jealous of Sergeant Ligia. Apparently not." It takes a second for 'Cella's haughty words to process, and Jezmine shuts up  _ very _ quickly once they do. The grin, to mangle an expression, is on the other face now.

"Is everyone else here?" I ask, directing the question toward Lucy who's leaning out the door of her small but private quarters to see what the disturbance in the common room is.

"Nah, they're trying to get gear that fits out of the armory."

"That should be easier now. Just got done discussing it with the Captain. I'll still be getting you better when I can, but you will at least have carapace that fits for now." Smiling, I sling the case I'm carrying off my back and set it on the table. "Among other things, I managed to get her personal big-game weapon off of her. Perfect for our designated markswoman." Flipping the catches and spinning it around before opening it, I watch Jezmine's face look at it first with incomprehension, then absolute reverence and joy.

"You, you got me a-" She blinks a few times, then wipes away forming tears.

"Oh, it's still mine, but using it is your job." Nodding, she reaches out and lifts the ancient weapon from the padded case, automatically clearing the chamber by habit even if it takes a moment to find the slide. The thing is huge in her hands, even if it's the mortal version instead of the one designed for Astartes. 19mm instead of 25, but still a magnificent weapon. Turning it over a few times, she finds the Angevin Crusade markings and nearly drops it, then hugs it instead.

"Milady?"

"Armswoman?"

"May I kiss your husband?"

"WOOO!"

"Shut up Lucy." Jezmine nearly shouts, turning her head to glare at her squadmate.

**Segmentum Obscurus**  
**Calixis Sector**  
**Halo Stars?**  
**The Warp**  
**Heavy Transport - Writ of Surplus**  
**9.259.736M41**  
**Est. arrival in Witch-Cursed System 9.276.736M41**

"How forward of you." Jezmine doesn't know 'Cella well enough to hear the humor in her voice here, and with the reminder of Lucy in the room she's expecting a refusal so she just starts to nod and turn away. "Tristain?"

"Yes?"

"I want to see you knock her boots off." Lucy's jaw drops and Jezmine halts her turn away, an expression of disbelief on her face quickly washed away with joy. She turns back with a smile, and I cup my hands to either side of her jaw, thumbs stroking her earlobes as I pull her close. Bending my purchased skill to the task of 'knocking her boots off', I work my fingertips against the roots of her hair as I capture her lips, forcing her head to tilt back for better access. As I swipe my tongue across her upper lip, I slide my hands back further into her hair, threading my fingers in through the soft strands, softer and thicker than she once had. Once they're in position I curl my hands into fists, applying tension evenly and rocking her head gently but irresistibly this way and that. Whimpering sounds escape from her throat as I work, every flex of my hands bringing goosebumps to her neck, pebbling under my wrists where they're adding to the picture. Her new ancient sniper-bolter tumbles to the deck unharmed as her hands go slack, and then I bite the corner of her lip and pull away slowly.

"Damn." There's a slow clap from Lucy as she stares at the dazed and barely standing woman. I can smell Jezmine's arousal and her eyes are quite glazed. It takes her a minute to return to her senses and I grin with pride at having done that to her with a kiss.

"Wa-I-Th-thank you milord." She finally gets out, blinking dazedly. Looking down she starts to bend over to retrieve her dropped weapon, and has to catch herself when her knees wobble.

"Hey, Sir? Can ya teach  _ me _ how t' do that?" Lucy asks, voice somewhat teasing but with a thread of honesty to it.

"Possibly. Just so we're clear though, my wife's willingness to share is a  _ secret _ you will  _ keep _ . Both of you."

"Yes milord."

"Of course Sir."

"Now have a seat and let's wait for the rest of your squad, just want a bit of a talk with all of you now that things are settled.

…

…

"SUCCESS!" Harland shouts as she backs through the door, holding one end of a large crate. He already had a runners build, so as they changed I took the liberty of making sure she kept that, and that none of her height loss came from her  _ legs _ .

"Hey Harley, we have guests." Lucy greets, she's leaning back in her chair, in imminent danger of falling over if not for enhanced reflexes.

"Hmm?" 'Harley' I guess she's going with now, looks over her shoulder again, this time toward me. "Oh, hi. I'd salute but..." She's been carefully backing up while talking, guiding the crate through the door. Unlike in the barracks further amidships, up in command territory there's gilding to be wary of dinging.

"Naturally." I grant. At the other end of the crate is Edwin, or whatever name they might have now, with Ligia bringing up the rear. Once they're clear of the door they simply take a couple steps to the side and set the crate down before turning to face me.

"Thanks for clearing things up with the Captain sir."

"Certainly." Out of the corner of my eye I spot Jezmine moving, and the reactions of the three who haven't seen her new toy are just as good as Lucy's earlier, if not as good as Jezmine's was.

Harley gives a low whistle, and they all crowd around for a better look. "When you promised better gear… I was Not. Expecting. This."

"I had the opportunity for a few smaller items while negotiating with the captain."

" _ This _ is a smaller item?"

"I have sole access to a source of archeotech that seems to be the equal of halo devices, but manmade and without the nasty side effects." I point at the ancient weapon. "That was the premium on an option to buy one. Well, that and permission for Eta to keep experimenting. Calligos may or may not exercise that option, but either way I keep the stalker."

"I'd drink to that."

"Didn't you just spend five days drunk?"

"So?"

"Dude, you let us name you  _ Edith _ ." Lucy points out.

"So? Mom and Pop always called me 'Ed' anyway, and they still can if I ever get back to Cosflame again."

"No drinking just yet." I declare. "I wanted to have a bit of a word with you lot, make sure we're all on the same page. Most of this should be pretty obvious, but it needs to be said anyway.

"First, you will obey my lady wife's orders as though they were mine, unless there's a contradiction obviously, in that case use your best judgement. Second, as bodyguards you are to keep us safe as well as you can given whatever situation might occur. Third, you will almost certainly be privy to many of our secrets. You will  _ keep  _ them secret. Sharing them among each other is permitted, discussing them with us is fine, but no one else. Again, use your best judgement, if you have to choose between our lives and our secrets?.. Well, secrets don't matter when you're dead. If someone tries to bribe you to share our secrets, I encourage you to take their money, and then  _ lie to them _ . Report it to one of us when you have a chance.

"Finally, you will never give aid to, or succumb to the temptations of, the Great Enemy."

"EXCUSE ME! YOU THINK I'D-" There's a good degree of outrage at the implication, but I just weather the indignant shouts for a few moments until they remember themselves.

"...You finished? Good. No, I don't think any of you would willingly fall. But here's the thing. One of the capabilities of these collars?" I smirk. "And no, Eta doesn't know about this, it's a secret. I can issue unbreakable orders. Oh, I can't order you to fly or something else impossible, but if it's possible you will."

There's somewhat stunned silence for a bit, then Ligia speaks up. "Hey, an unbreakable order not to turn heretic is  _ lightyears _ better than a commissar's bolt to the brain on the suspicion of it." They chew on that for a bit, then start nodding.

"Oh, one last thing, if I give you a stupid order, tell me. If I give you an indefinite order that makes more sense as something temporary, you may assume it's meant as such. A couple weeks ago I told Ligia to relax, and she stayed relaxed for a couple hours until I realized what the problem was."

"So… Teenage nobleman." Lucy begins. "With archeotech that turns people into hot slavegirls… Well, mostly, not Bendegar obviously." She lifts a hand to wave to and fro between us. "Should I expect to be ordered to your bed?"

"Do you want to be?" I ask with a smirk, knowing the collar's already had two weeks to work on her.

"..." Her hand sinks to the table and she blinks a few times. "Huh… Actually, yes. I do want that."

"Then yes." Marcella answers ahead of me, her face a deep red.

"But not just yet. I'm reliably informed that Jezmine has wanted it the longest."

The woman in question smiles eagerly, making the sign of the Aquila and looking up at the ceiling with eyes closed and a whispered "Thank you."

"Ah, he's that way." I point off to the side "Not that way." My other hand points to the ceiling. There's a bit of laughter at the correction, and she repeats her gratitude in the appropriate direction.

**Segmentum Obscurus**  
**Calixis Sector**  
**Halo Stars?**  
**The Warp**  
**Heavy Transport - Writ of Surplus**  
**9.259.736M41**  
**Est. arrival in Witch-Cursed System 9.276.736M41**

"Come in." Jezmine is rather obviously eager when she steps through the door, looking around the opulent room for a second before focusing on me again. "This way." As I turn to head for where Marcella is waiting, I ask conversationally "So, with the betting, were you always betting for me?"

"How many plates." She answers with a nervous laugh. "Harland- Harley gets annoyed when you shoot an already cracked one again, messes up the book."

"Hah. I'll keep it in mind." As we step into Marcella's and my bedroom, my lovely wife is already wearing a silken robe instead of her dress from earlier. Reaching out and taking her in my arms, I kiss her nose before letting go and starting to undress. The order to feel pleasure when I do that is still in effect, and I must admit the way she shudders makes me tempted to make it permanent.

When I look up again I find her watching with amusement as Jezmine somehow finishes ahead of me, stripping down eagerly and standing nude before us. The mass of scar tissue through her left shoulder and right buttock is much faded, the skin smoothing out with time where once it held on to that gnarled texture. Finishing with my pants is delayed a bit by letting my eyes wander, but while I'm still undressing my lovely wife grabs Jezmine's hand and pulls her over to the bed. "Here, bend over." As the woman obliges, 'Cella moves around to the side to lounge across the mattress, where she can look Jezmine in the eyes when I take her from behind. She still hasn't actually seen my cock, and my wife wants to watch her face when she feels it sight-unseen.

She doesn't know it yet, but I've used the controls to tighten her down a bit, and turned up the density of stretch-sensors in her sex. Whatever her pain threshold may be won't have changed, but the sensation of  _ stretching _ will be significantly more intense. Not inhumanly so of course, but enough to be  _ fun _ . Approaching from behind, I hear her gasp when I run my fingers across her hip, stroking her smooth skin as my fingers wander toward her glistening lips. Her blond hair is draped over her left arm, her instinctive reaction to hide the augmentic in a situation like this. "You don't have to hide your arm."

"It's ugly."

"It's not that bad." I reassure, letting my fingers finally brush her slick lips. She doesn't really grow any pubic hair anymore with the collar, so she's also very smooth. Her gasp and jolt inform me I can add  _ sensitive _ to that list. She starts to twist, only for Marcella to stop her with a word.

"Wait. I want you to feel it before you see it." Her voice is thick with excitement. "I want to watch your face."

"Y-yes milady."

I could delay further, but there's no reason, she's obviously ready. More than ready, eager and needy. Kneeling down between her calves, I slide the tip of my cock up and down the cleft of her pussy a few times to collect some of her juices, and then start squeezing my way inside. She's silent for a moment, then emits a drawn-out whine that I can only imagine goes with a wonderful expression. Marcella's is enraptured as she watches Jezmine's face, smiling broadly and with eyes gleaming. Our pet quivers around me, obviously trying to relax in the face of something that feels wildly thicker than anything she's had before. It feels wonderful, almost sucking me farther in despite being much too tight for any actual suction.

Her head starts to bow only for Marcella to interrupt again. "Head up." With a whimper she complies. "Look at me." I assume she closed her eyes, but 'Cella wants to watch her expression fully, without anything hidden. It takes a bit to get all the way in her, and she reacts beautifully the whole way. She's deeper than Ligia, though not as much as 'Cella, nearly a perfect fit with my hips making contact just as I can feel the rubbery ring of her cervix against my head.

"Ok,  _ now _ you can relax." Her head falls to the bed and she just lays there panting for a moment.

"How do  _ you _ fit this thing milady? You're tiny."

"I am not! I am twelfth percentile." She huffs, then grins. "And I fit that thing very well thank you!" The panting woman between us groans, then tries rocking her hips, groaning again more appreciatively when she does. Judging that to mean she's ready to go, I slowly pull back to leave her achingly empty, then drive forward much more quickly. All the air escapes her lungs in a rush and she arches her back. The motion is beautiful so I do it again, setting a sedate but pounding rhythm gauged to drive her out of her mind in short order.

Jezmine's an oddly quiet lover, or maybe I just have a small sample size in this life. Her groans and moans pick up a bit, but unlike Marcella and Ligia she never actually cries out loud, it's always noises in the back of her throat and sinuses, muffled wordless tones of need and pleasure. Even when she obviously goes flying over the edge it's just a gasp, then twenty seconds of silence while she shakes in place, her pussy doing its admirable best to extract my seed. Laying down atop the shaking woman, I hold her tight while emptying myself into her depths with my own groan of pleasure, hot pinpricks of pleasure racing over me while I look past Jezmine's head and meet the eyes of my wife. Then it's over and I let my head drop as well, resting next to my partner's against the covers while her breathing slows.

"Was it everything you hoped?"

"...It was a really good start milord."

"Just a start? How greedy of you." I tease.

"Well, I'd like to face you next time."

"Sure." Continuing to snuggle with her for the moment, I lift my head when Marcella leans in, giving her a tender kiss while still buried in another woman. "You're amazing my dear." I murmur softly.

"Yeah… Thank you so much for sharing!" Jezmine adds. "So… Do you want me to pleasure you now? Or how does this work?" Her face is still pressed into the covers as she hasn't lifted her head, so she can't see Marcella's considering look.

"...Yes." She finally answers, rolling to her feet and shrugging out of her robe before laying back down. One leg swivels over and down to leave her in the splits. The extra elasticity paying wonderful visual dividends. Reaching up, I slide my hands under her thighs and pull her within reach, then settle in to watch my wife get eaten by another woman. It's an amazing sight given that they're both mine, and while I never really went soft, it definitely inspires me to begin thrusting again.

"Oohh, keep doing that." My wife asks when I extract a particularly resonant moan, so I try to repeat the motion as well as I can, inciting our bedmate to give her a hummer in the process of licking.


	2. Thorns

**Segmentum Obscurus**  
**Calixis Sector**  
**Halo Stars?**  
**The Warp**  
**Heavy Transport - Writ of Surplus**  
**9.276.736M41**  
**Est. arrival in Witch-Cursed System 9.276.736M41**

For all that they're 'safe stopping points' in the passage, the Waystations are anything but safe. At least, the big four are. The fact that they're both mandatory for ships making the passage, and utterly hostile to long-term stationing of patrol fleets, makes them ideal hunting grounds for pirates. It also makes them ideal hunting grounds for pirates with delusions of grandeur and a warrant of trade, so there's always a possibility that the bitch has ships here waiting on Calligos's next convoy. It's why the Writ has the escorts it does for this trip, our megatonnes of grain are, eventually, bound for Lucian's Breath, though we'll be transferring it to shorter-range armored transports before that.

The danger of the Waystations has everyone on edge as we approach, and as I watch the storm knot up ahead of us around the mandeville envelope, I squeeze Marcella's hand. Somehow I'm both offering and drawing reassurance from the gesture, and when I glance down at her she looks back, the warmth of each other's Eye washing over us for a moment before we turn back to the window. We're dressed for trouble, as is everyone else on the ship who can. Carapace for those who have it, flak for those who don't, and every station manned. The pair of us have our new Conversion Fields hanging from our necks, the chokers having obligingly sprouted eyelets to hang them from when we tried to figure it out.

Ligia's squad is stationed outside the bridge, probably exchanging taunts and jabs with the usual bridge guards and the captain's guards. Out of the way but ready to rush in if needed. They're all armed to the teeth and with a long hallway between the bridge and the next door down, the very layout of the ship designed with a killing field to traverse for any boarders attempting to reach the bridge. For all that my memories of another life find the design of our ships ostentatious as hell, nearly every element of the basic design has a purpose. Even if it's just to provoke emotional resonance, a crucial resource in the Warp.

There's a deep thrum from the reactor, even this far from the core, as the warp drive readies to tear us a hole. "Emergence in five...four...three...two...one…" A klaxon blares and the ship shudders, the immaterium and materium meeting in a gaping rent before us which the ship smoothly sails through, void shields already up and weapons hot. To the sides I can make out our escorts own exits, one, two… And three is apparently several light seconds out. It's an impressive show of cohesion, my cousins on the other ships having kept course with us to an _impressive_ degree given the limitations of the medium.

Around us in the distance I can see the realspace incursion boundaries of the Vortex and the Roil, their eldritch light the only source of illumination for this lone world lost between stars. Charging straight through would bring us to the other side in a couple days, but it would also bring us rather closer to the Witch-Cursed world itself for anyone's comfort. I'm not sure- Something brushes lightly across my mind, the collar keeping it out, but not forcing it away.

 _"Milord?"_ The voice is familiar, Thalia? Why would she not use the comm? _"They're screaming. I can hear them. Last time here I couldn't, the others still can't. So much pain, they're being torn away..."_ Hearing someone sob telepathically is a distinctly _odd_ experience. I have no way to really _respond_ in kind, and I'm definitely NOT letting what could be an imposter into my mind.

Reaching up to my ear, I tap my comm-bead and speak. "Thalia? Did you send me a message just now?"

"Y-yes milord."

"Well, I'm not sure what you want me to do about it, but I agree it sounds terrible."

"I-I thought you should know."

"Reasonable. If anything changes let me know."

"Yes milord." With that I tap my comm-bead again to close the connection and turn to Marcella.

Letting go of her hand, I thread my fingers into her hair and rub her scalp for a moment until she leans into it and closes her eyes, then drag my hand down to run her hair between my fingers. There's so much more of it now, and my sweeping gesture fans a brilliant coppery banner out behind her before it falls down again, coming to rest below her butt. I have it set to keep going to her ankles, the maintenance by her choker ensuring that it's much easier to take care of than it would be otherwise, and keeps her from getting any head or neck aches several pounds of hair might cause. "Beautiful."

"Thank you." She smiles and brushes a finger across her choker, lending a double meaning to the words, thanking me for both the compliment and for helping her grow it so long. That's really the only change I made, how _much_ hair she has. More follicles, faster growth, longer maximum. The color, the body, that's all her, and with the choker there's no risk of losing it to warp mutation… I may be considering the five percent growth per day for her hair if I ever get the unlock. We can just claim it's a mutation and she can be my copper-haired Rapunzel. A knife can trim it off in an emergency after all.

* * *

"Hypothesis #substantiated. Secondary collars induce## physiological attraction to primary." Eta declares after asking me to walk in and out of sight while Haley sits on an examination table with a bunch of sensors glued to her. "Readings taken from subjects born female ##inconclusive due to primary's ##conformance to ideal human shape. Heterosexual subjects conver#ted from male remain attracted to females, with exception for primary."

"Okay, so what does this tell us?" I ask, taking a seat on the examination table next to my guard.

"Very little. My working hypothesis is an item intended for sexual purposes. Like## Many creations of Mankind in the Dark Ages, full functionality is useful far beyond the original application. Leman Russ STC## contained farming equipment pattern. The Sheepskin pattern farm tractor is used on many agriworlds."

"That came out of the Leman Russ STC?" Harley seems somewhat taken aback. Eta just nods. "The production of Sheepskin tractors can be ##quickly redirected to produce tanks when required." They reach up with a mechadendrite to tap on Harley's choker. "These collars may be intended for maintaining the health and availability of some ancient harem, but the health benefits alone are sufficient for further use. Bendegar is ##sufficient proof that the attraction is not irresistible, as she still dislikes you."

To be fair, she'd still defend me to the death, and she'd go along with it if I wanted to fuck her, but the collar doesn't seem to have done anything about her actively disliking me. It's odd, given that the collar is supposed to induce friendship, but not actually unwelcome. Maybe it's fine with inducing 'Enemy Mine' or 'Dating Catwoman'?... The integration of both my sets of memories sometimes makes odd connections, as I quite abruptly discover a desire for a felinid guardswoman. Of course, out here beyond the Calixis sector there's no way I'm going to find one, or even explain _knowing they exist_ , but I want one anyway.

"So… how much do you think it reduces their value?"

"###Not at all." Eta answers immediately. "Being attracted to a single Navigator they will likely never meet is very little drawback indeed. The gender change is potentially ##problematic in regions practicing primogeniture, but the lifespan extension likely renders that### largely moot."

"Oh, good."

"I will need a subject not ##encumbered by emotion for one of the tests I## require. Likewise a subject ##neither male nor female. I request your leave to bring another ##Biologis in on this project. I cannot act as both objective observer and subject."

"You're going to put one on _yourself_?" I ask with a raised brow.

"Standard procedure would be to ##remain in the roll of observer for the ##duration of the investigation. However, as Captain Thorn has granted us permission to## test on me, but not on any other ##Mechanicus personnel aboard, there is only one option." They pause for a bit. "Unless you can ##bargain for another? That would be ##preferred."

"Well, how long can you wait?" I ask innocently. "I can probably get one of the house genetors on board for the experiment in a few years, but there's no guarantee we'd be on the same ship anymore."

 **Segmentum Obscurus**  
**Koronus Sector**  
**Koronus Passage**  
**Witch-Cursed System**  
**Heavy Transport - Writ of Surplus**  
**9.279.736M41**  
**Scheduled Warp Dive 9.291.736M41**

With a few days to breathe, our lessons turn to our charts of that portion of the passage. There's drift to them, there always is with the warp, and even more this close to the storms. Marcella and I pull out our chart of the passage, and Silvea retrieves her and Graig's. They're placed on the charting table side by side, each couple taking care to avoid touching the other's as we compare the immediately visible notations, making comments and pointing out differences between the marked currents and those we felt.

The significance may not be as well understood by others, but the four of us only have two sets of charts. Marcella and I share charts, Silvea and Graig share charts. The overall knowledge of the warp is something belonging to the house, but all the _little_ personal details… the scribbled notes, the emotive resonances of this location or that, the echo of a difficult passage or a personal triumph. The vellum we use is specially treated to be psychoactive, it _has_ to be to store the relevant information. As a result a full combining of charts is a journey through another's life. You have to re-experience the moments in a way to copy them over, and whoever shares the chart with you can experience the same thing whenever they wish.

I smile as I brush my fingers over the spot on the map where Marcella learned she's pregnant. The radiant joy of the moment washes out of the vellum and I spend a moment just appreciating it. Her hand moves to cover mine, and partake of the very closely spaced location where she informed me.

The shared moment is of course spoiled by Silvea. "Given time you'll mark every chart you have like that." 'Cella and I blush and pull our hands away. Silvea wouldn't dare touch our chart, but she can see where we were touching, and knows approximately what the timeline was anyway.

I have memories from years ago of Graig showing me how to mark a chart, the simple but intense emotions of a child all I could put down, the laughter when I showed him and Silvea the results proudly. I didn't recognize it then, but there were a number of significant looks between our caretakers when Marcella and I would choose to practice together. Navigators are not empaths, strictly speaking, not without our charts. There are special resins in the vellum that must be cured by the light of our Eyes to grant that capacity.

I know other houses have different means of storing charts, psychoactive crystals, skulls, layers of psychoactive paint that build up into stiff sheets. We use ink and vellum, and more recently, though also as long as I can remember, we use specialized servo-skulls from the recovered corpses of our fallen, what few we could gather.

* * *

"You are, apparently, already potentially compromised." I inform Eta when I track them down. "I tried talking to the captain, but…" It's true too, I wouldn't want to be caught in a lie like _that_ , but it wasn't hard to phrase things in such a way that she refused, without realizing I was lame-ducking the request.

"I too# made the attempt.#" They respond, looking up from something they're working on with a dozen tiny lenses aimed at it and even more miniscule tools making careful adjustments. Looking back down they continue speaking while working. "I am performing maintenance on this ##Full capture Sense-corder. It is## badly damaged, but I think I can repair ####thirty percent."

"Don't have another one huh?"

"Correct. Wearable full-capture units are exceedingly rare, and I cannot ##remain tethered to one of my own examination rooms for ##two weeks of observation."

"And you don't have some other implant for that?"

"They all record. My remaining flesh does not. Thirty percent functionality will be ##sufficient to fill the gap. The previous subjects were ##mostly unaugmented, subject Fensil was a blessing of the Omnissiah for study, but incomplete. Her implants were adjusted with her, but not beyond the recommended parameters. I will provide a far more complete data set from my own changes, whatever they may be." Eta looks up again, cluster of lenses staring me in the eyes. "I pray the Omnissiah sees fit for me to survive such changes to the flesh."

"Well, they haven't hurt anyone so far. Unless you count infuriating Bendegar."

"Indeed, but prayer is still wise. Subject Fensil's arm shows evidence of ##adjustment. Well done adjustment, but there is a risk my True Flesh## is not handled correctly. I lack ##several regions where the collars have shown to make ##significant changes."

"Don't have any fun bits hmm?"

"That was crude, but accurate. Please, ##either be silent or depart, I ##need to finish this." With that they turn back to their maintenance. Nodding assent, even if they can't see it, I head out to go spend some time with Marcella, and possibly Ligia or Jezmine.

* * *

**Segmentum Obscurus**  
**Koronus Sector**  
**Koronus Passage**  
**Witch-Cursed System**  
**Heavy Transport - Writ of Surplus**  
**9.283.736M41**  
**Scheduled Warp Dive 9.291.736M41**

"Ah, greetings." I nod to the second tech-priest in Eta's office. He's, well, visibly _he_ given the significantly lower quantity of implants, and I recognize him from the general crew medicae I toured when first coming aboard. "Epsilon...seventeen?"

"Good memory. I'm here to observe Eta's personal investigation. The experimental protocol is irregular but not without precedent. The Omnissiah acknowledges you must work with the tools you have available." His voice is still human, though there's the disk of a speaker at the side of his throat for producing binaric.

"Yeah. I offered to wait and recruit one of the Cassini genetors to the effort, but Eta here turned me down." I gesture to- Actually, I guess I can call them _her_ now since I'll know it to be true soon. I gesture to _her_ and shrug.

"Yes, and both of you sought another subject as well. As is the correct procedure."

"I am## Standing right here."

"Right. You ready for this?" I ask, glancing at the choker currently laying innocently in the grasp of one of her mechadendrites.

"As ready as I can## reasonably become, within the ##available timeframe." Several of her mechadendrites plug into various data ports on the equipment around the room, and Epsilon plugs one of his two into a port on Eta's shoulder while she reaches up to clasp the choker around her own neck. It looks like a tight fit initially due to all the extra metal, but the choker lengthens obligingly to make room. Then it clicks shut and her fate is sealed.

"Well?"

"My early conjecture regarding the text on the back was correct." She answers, the back of the jeweled setting now against a camera that's set into her throat. "My name has appeared, as has yours." The excitement creeps into her voice. "It's using M1 characters for my name as well!"

"Anything else interesting?"

"One moment while I ##run a diagnostic… Neural-augmentic connectivity has improved zero point zero three percent already. This matches with the reduction in interface glial tissue seen with subject Fensil. Organic## metabolic rates increasing in several areas… #####Configuration changes detected, Luminen coil reporting ##misalignment, Autosanguine systems power #draw one hundred seventy percent and## holding, efficiency one hundred twelve percent rated and holding, Cyber-Mantle integration drift one ##percent, pelvic girdle bone attachments shifted zero point zero #one percent."

"Is that bad?" Marcella gets to the question before I do.

"Not yet." Epsilon answers for her. "As long as the autosanguine systems are functioning correctly Eta can still recover."

Taking a seat, I drag Marcella into my lap to snuggle while we wait for news about which way Eta is going. The motion allows me to tap my pendant to get the menu, and I find she has an entire extra menu of sliders for her implants. Ignoring that for now, I rest my head against Marcella's and close my eyes as I go through and make the usual changes, though I do leave the breast and hip sliders a bit higher for her. Flesh or steel, she can be a bit curvier than the others. Marcella is my lovely little petite wife, and my guards can't afford having them in the way, but Eta has mechadendrites and wears her armor under her skin.

Turning my attention to her implants at last, I find many of them denote efficiency ratings, with only her self-repair systems having apparently been adjusted at all. Changing any of that right now seems like a bad idea, so I leave it be. We can work our way through that list once she's not under observation anymore and I can have a hardlink.

Looking at the projection of what she's going to look like, I muse that she'd be right at home in some sort of cyberpunk setting. Flexible metallic plating with dozens of little doors for various connections and tools, and most of her mechadendrites sprouting in a pair of rows down her spine. The thinner ones she uses for fine detail appear to be destined for a move from her hand to her head, extending in length and forming mecha-medusa-esque hair.

I have to wonder whether she's going to end up needing more raw materials, and it's just as I'm musing on that that Eta shrieks out with a blast of binaric. Startled from my musing, I look up and find her practically vibrating in place. "It's using my autosanguine systems to make changes!"

"Are you okay?"

"I believe so. I was caught by surprise when it began. I will need ##substantially more feedstock than stored internally, but I considered## substantial repair loads as a possibility. There is a small crate in that cabinet."

 **Segmentum Obscurus**  
**Koronus Sector**  
**Koronus Passage**  
**Witch-Cursed System**  
**Heavy Transport - Writ of Surplus**  
**9.284.736M41**  
**Scheduled Warp Dive 9.291.736M41**

The distinctive blaring of a klaxon rouses me from sleep, blearily looking at the display set into the wall next to the bed to read the reason. Next to me Marcella grumbles unhappily as well. "The middle of the night?"

"We need to get to fire control. Now. Wake up, get your carapace on quickly." I just wish I could wake myself up as quickly. Marcella goes from barely coherent to three cups of kaf awake in about five seconds after I give the order, leaping across to the armor stand with her armor and starting to don the stuff. I'm lagging a bit behind her as I shake off my sleep, but not that far. She's about fifteen seconds ahead of me by the time she finishes buckling her carapace, and her conversion field is still hanging neatly from her collar much like mine, the devices not actually interfering with sleep.

When she's done with her own she turns to help me. Imperial carapace is designed to be easy to don alone, but extra hands still help. Less than two minutes after the klaxon sounded and we're both dressed, if naked under the bodysuit base layer. "Let's go."

As we step out into the hallway we find Ligia's squad waiting for us, likewise looking a bit rumpled but ready for a fight if necessary. Hopefully it won't be, but I'm not counting on it. Turning toward the bridge, we all start running as fast as we can. Well, as fast as 'Cella can anyway. With everyone being equally fit, leg length really tells. "Just go."

"We're not in _that_ much of a hurry." I counter, loping along the corridor toward the bridge. Through the superstructure around us I can hear the immense armor slabs folding up from the sides to cover the bridge, dull clangs marking the latches clamping on. The commanding view from the bridge is great, and the view from the spire better, but they're liabilities in a fight. Around us the ship's officers are running in various directions, not in confusion, but simply that everyone has somewhere they need to be right now. The clatter of carapace armor is a dull roar in this situation, though I imagine it's not much quieter where there's flak instead, since there'll be more shouting.

The bridge guards open the door ahead of us when they recognize us coming, and our guards peel of to join them while Marcella and I dash onto the bridge and hop down into the fire control pits on either side of the command throne. "Hi." I greet perfunctorily, grabbing a connector and plugging it into the back of my neck. The fire coordinators just nod without looking in my direction, but that's for the best. The station pits are laid out as they are for a reason, and when I open my eye to seek out the fate of any incoming fire it's only the armored backs of their seats that get exposed. The walls of the pit shielding the rest of the bridge from even this filtered light.

This particular application isn't my strong suit, Marcella is still better at it, but in the past couple months I've upgraded from 'barely passable' to 'competent'. It's enough to get assigned to point defense fire control while Marcella is on the dorsal lance turret and Silvea aids the Voidmaster. Graig… is going to _be a while_ getting to the bridge, so the combat readiness plan doesn't include him. When he gets here in fifteen minutes the fight may only just be getting started, but the first shots will almost certainly be-

There's an echo. Turning my attention toward the source, I find a phantom torpedo hit along the left flank in a few minutes. The path of pain and death follows backwards to the cause, rippling in the warp until… I feed the fire control system a path for the incoming torp, and sigh in relief when the echo cuts off, turning my attention back to looking for more while the forewarned gunners deal with the long distance plasma delivery truck.

The ships off in the distance aren't really a match for us, but there's no way we could hope to catch them, and our escorts can't chase them without leaving the Writ vulnerable to other attack. Instead they're free to sit back and lob torpedoes at us as they see fit, so far out of range for anything other than _more_ torpedoes that they don't have to worry. Our escorts may have a supply, but hurling torpedoes at destroyers is pointless, they're not going to _be there_ when the things arrive. "Slow harassment… This is going to suck."

…

After the first fifteen minutes, the bridge has settled into a dull tension, broken only intermittently by an upswing when there's another torpedo. Having the pressure all on me is… actually not as bad as having the _same_ pressure only in the Warp.

"Milord? Drink." I lift a hand without actually raising my head, the petty officer bringing refreshments doesn't need a faceful of warp. The toasty hot container is placed in my uprased fingers, and I bring it back down to take a sip from the provided straw. The sound of his boots on the decking retreats quickly, and I can stop worrying about his presence… Not that any torpedoes have tried to come from above anyway.

"Mmm." Kaf isn't the same as coffee, no matter what some people claim, but it has caffeine and theobromine, and that's enough to hit the same feel-good stimulant buttons we humans have long since adapted to appreciate. Hell, I think we always did, we just didn't know what we were missing before they were discovered. "Incoming." I send the path again, relax again, resume looking intently again. It's just… _dull_ , and someone is spending millions of thrones on making our lives difficult, but why?... I want to blame Chorda, she has the resources and the desire, but if those were her ships they'd have sent a demand or a threat or… _something_ by now… I think.

Wait…I tap my comm bead. "Thalia, do those ships have anything to do with what you felt before?"

"I don't think so milord. Sorry, it's hard to tell, they're too close to the planet, almost lost in the noise."

"Disappointing, but if you can't, you can't." With that I close the connection. A little abrupt normally, but not in these circumstances. "Grrrrrr…"

 **Segmentum Obscurus**  
**Koronus Sector**  
**Koronus Passage**  
**Witch-Cursed System**  
**Heavy Transport - Writ of Surplus**  
**9.287.736M41**  
**Scheduled Warp Dive 9.291.736M41**

After the initial slew, our attackers taper off the torpedo attacks to just every couple hours. It's enough to force the small convoy to remain on high alert, but not enough to remain an actual _threat_ unless they have something more. It just doesn't make sense, if they had the munitions to keep it up for weeks it might wear us down, but they can't keep us from- Oh. "Aunt?" I call out, easily audible in the ongoing tense silence. "What if they have someone waiting with a Disruption?" The lack of answer isn't encouraging, and as the silence goes on I start to wonder.

"I had considered that, but I don't think we have a choice." The answer comes from Captain Thorn, also looking supremely displeased with the situation. "Lady Cassini, in your educated opinion, how long could such a thing keep us here?"

"Too long. They will begin that fight well rested."

"If they are waiting, I will need you and your husband well rested. Your protoges appear to have the current situation well in hand."

"Very well." As she strides off the bridge, the tension ratchets up another notch. I may have proven myself over the last three shifts, but the crew trusts my aunt and uncle's sight more than mine. To be fair, _so do I_ , but I both do and don't have time to waste thinking about that. I have nothing _but_ time right now, and I'm operating on kaf and stamina drawn from the warp, hoping the backlash doesn't leave me unconscious at a crucial moment. Better that happen to me than Silvea or Graig though… Even if I suspect he could go a couple weeks.

With them gone it turns into a tense game of handing off fire control between Marcella and myself, Not terribly frequently, but certain bodily functions don't exactly wait for convenient times to become necessary.

With our attackers content to keep their distance, and time on our side even if they suddenly start closing the gap, Marcella eventually returns to the point defense station immediately after her break and commandeers my lap since I don't actually need my hands for my job here, just my connection to the Writ. Leaning against me, she lets her head rest on my shoulder and sighs. It's not quite as comfortable with her wearing a helmet, but still. "Sleep well" I tell her. "I'll wake you when it's your turn." And with that she's out like a light. Having her there is nice, even with both our armor between us. It helps keep me awake actually, though I think I need a new codpiece for my carapace armor, this one's getting a bit tight.

* * *

**Segmentum Obscurus**  
**Koronus Sector**  
**Koronus Passage**  
**Witch-Cursed System**  
**Heavy Transport - Writ of Surplus**  
**9.289.736M41**  
**Scheduled Warp Dive 9.291.736M41**

It's a bit of a surprise when Marcella stirs awake after only another eight hours, snuggling against me with a mumble of vague discomfort at having slept in armor. "That was quick." I comment.

"I feel fine."

"I'm sure, still less than a shift of sleep after five without."

"What? But… Not important right now. Your turn to sleep."

"Yeah, let me up first, I need to piss." Unplugging from the station, I hand her the cable and let her plug in as she stands up, then I slide out from under her and let her take a seat while I haul myself up the ladder. "Hey." I greet the first officer, currently occupying the command throne, and stagger my way over to the head at the back of the bridge. When I return to the point defense fire control pit, Marcella stands up without looking to allow me to sit down again, and then reclaims my lap. Wrapping my arms around her waist, I let my head rest against the back of the seat and close my eyes, falling asleep fairly quickly despite the tension on the bridge. Even so, it still takes longer than I'd like, and I idly wish I could make myself sleep as easily as I did her earlier.

Oh well.

* * *

**Segmentum Obscurus**  
**Koronus Sector**  
**Koronus Passage**  
**Witch-Cursed System**  
**Heavy Transport - Writ of Surplus**  
**9.291.736M41**

The blaring klaxon is irritating at the best of times, that's the _point_ , but even much better rested than before I'm immediately made grumpy by the sound. Graig is alone in the spire for this, on the assumption that things are about to go to hell, handbasket optional. Silvea is once again at the Voidmaster's station, and Marcella in the fire control station for the dorsal lance. I'm still not clear on the _why_ of that armament choice, maybe Calligos just likes lances, but I'd much prefer a disrupter macrocannon battery instead right now.

As we approach the mandeville point there's a massive _wave_ of death from the future, and I'm left scrambling to sort out the overlapping echoes. The chase ships seem to have lobbed one last volley of torpedoes from every tube before hammering their engines to close the gap. It's a definite point in favor of the jaws of a trap slamming shut, and as I'm trying to sort out which torpedoes are going to hit where, and which ones we have the density of fire to remove, and which ones we'll just have to let through, that's when the Empyrean begins to _churn_ beneath us. "Emperor's Bowels!"

The gellar field snaps on anyway, the reactor howling as it's pushed to a hundred percent output for the first time in years, full combat readiness with warp systems active on top of them. It's the sort of energy load only seen when hot-jumping into or out of a battle like we are now, and I'm glad the reactor can handle it. I can see the ripples of our own warp vanes flapping against the echoes across the veil, Graig trying to fight back against the ship hiding on the other side and keeping us from jumping.

I know our escorts have to be in worse shape, they've been operating with two navigators each this whole time, so theirs are _exhausted_. But if we can just get the Writ clear of the system… Well, then the crews of our escorts can turn on the harassers without being leashed to a lumbering behemoth of a cargo ship.

 **Segmentum Obscurus**  
**Koronus Sector**  
**Koronus Passage**  
**Witch-Cursed System**  
**Heavy Transport - Writ of Surplus**  
**9.291.736M41**

"Emergence! Three VU starboard bow!" There's only one ship in the current engagement capable of jumping safely at the moment, and I'm sure Marcella takes great satisfaction in preemptively targeting their jump-in point with the dorsal lance. There's the shrill screech of the capacitors discharging in rapid sequence, and I expect whoever's about to come through had a rude surprise when the lance strike came back through their warp rift before they even started coming through. It's probably not a severe hit, they'll have raised their void shields before opening it, but a nice slap to the face anyway.

I can spare little attention for it specifically, but as the bow passes through I note it's significantly larger than a destroyer. Light cruiser? Cruiser? Either way, it's pinning us down and blocking forward progress, aiding the pursuing ships in catching up.

I have to wait until as many inbound torpedoes as we can actually _handle_ are handled, before with no more aid to give there I turn to look at what's come through in front. Auspex scans show signs of damage, Graig's retaliatory disruption dishing out enough to do them harm before they simply bailed out of the warp to fight us in the Materium. The Turbulent class is distinctive enough at this distance, and I groan at the prospect of dealing with one of the little bastards. They're known for being lucky and tough, but they occupy a strange ground between frigate and light cruiser that has the battlefleet in a love-hate relationship with their own examples of the class. The idea that one somehow ended up in a pirate fleet isn't too far fetched, for all their abnormal durability for a frigate, many many such ships were lost in the Angevin Crusade… Just fewer proportionally than any other class.

The echoes of the single torpedo I couldn't organize enough fire for reaches the here-and-now, and I wince as the damcon alarms start sounding. It's not a serious hit, no engines rendered inoperable, no important systems lost, and at high alert like this that particular section of quarters is mostly empty. Even still there are deaths and suffering that echo in the Warp, and I can see the predators living there eagerly snatching souls do drag back down with them to be eaten forever.

Three destroyers and a heavy frigate, facing off with three destroyers and a heavy transport. I actually like these odds for the most part, but I'm worried about the part where apparently _so do they_. I don't like it when the other side thinks they have the high ground, and I don't know why they think that. When the Turbulent opens fire though… then it becomes clear. The crackling blue discharges of disruptor macrocannons lash out at one of our escorts and very nearly connect, my cousin on the ship apparently coming a little late with the warning. More salvos lash out again and again while the nimble little ship tries to dance out of the way, but the approaching destroyers behind us manage to bracket it badly enough to take a hit, the ship going into a tumble as their enginseers presumably scramble to replace fuses or something.

Not that our side lets them get away with that for free, the other ships in our little convoy coordinating to punish the Turbulent for it's cheek, macrocannon lashing out with less gentle forms of projectile than our opponent uses, hammering on the void shields in an attempt to bring them down. The protective barriers flicker here and there, and our lance digs a deep gash in one of the fins, hunting for the gellar generator. If we can just deprive the disrupting navigator of that, he'll be unable to keep us here, we can jump out and play the game in reverse, though it would mean leaving family on the Bootknife behind.

The Writ has nowhere near the maneuverability to really participate in this furball, and events soon move to remain within our rear arc, where nothing we have can point except for point defense. Silvea and Marcella work together beautifully to make sure the lance is already aimed correctly whenever a mistake is made, but the knife-fight is not our strength. The one saving grace is that the enemy destroyers are torpedo boats, and even if they might have some left, the things are _hardly_ knife fight weapons, as dangerous to the firing ship as their target at that range.

With the Bootknife out of the fight they're outnumbered, but with the resurgence of adrenaline they're slippery bastards. The remaining adults of our house are, after all, the ones who were best at _not dying_. They dance in and out of our firing arcs, daring their opponents to chase them while their void shields are down, hiding against our prow while they recharge before returning to the fray.

 _"Navigators? Blink a moment please?"_ "DO IT!" I shout to the bridge as a whole. Then there's a psychic scream that ripples out from our astropathic choir, the sound definitely centered around Thalia's voice. The Turbulent suddenly unloads it's disruptors into their own destroyer and the fight takes a hard turn for the better, the numbers now slightly favoring us given our escorts better close-range armaments.

Tapping my comm bead, I establish a connection. "You okay after that Thalia?... Thalia?"

A different voice comes back, sounding tired. "She's unconscious, but alive. I'm going to join her. Bye." Then the connection drops again.

I sense a certain vindictiveness when the Writ comes around to lance the tumbling pirate ship. Punching several holes through it to let the atmosphere and crew out into the void. Imperial construction, even when maintained by pirates, is too durable to simply explode, but the little destroyer's prow peels open like a stomped banana when the lance finds their remaining magazine. There's a moment of cheering on the bridge, and then sobriety returns.

The pirates coordination seems to have gone out the window after Thalia's stunt, the other two ships refusing to enter the Turbulent's _wide_ firing arc. It's the death knell for whatever plan they had, and eventually their heavy frigate loses their gellar generator and with it the ability for their navigator to churn the Empyrean on a more than personal scale. That's the point where they cut and run, fleeing into the distance to presumably attempt repairs. If they can't… Well, then they're stuck in the Koronus Passage without a gellar generator.

Good riddance.

"I would love to know how they got those disruptors." Thorne grumbles as the ship settles down.

"And the torpedoes." I add, climbing out of the fire control pit. It has been a long, _long_ week, and I'm entirely ready to be done with it.

"I'm less concerned about those." She rebuts. "They mean they have a backer, but the disruptor cannons mean a refit in a shipyard. Which one? When? Who?"

 **Segmentum Obscurus**  
**Koronus Sector**  
**Koronus Passage**  
**Witch-Cursed System**  
**Heavy Transport - Writ of Surplus**  
**9.291.736M41**  
**Mandeville Point: Battle site**

"Remind me to reward Thalia somehow later." I comment to Marcella as we trudge back to our quarters. With the prolonged battle over we can finally peel ourselves out of our armor and _wash_ , so we're understandably eager to get home and scrape off the stink. Even if it's shared bathing, the hot water and soap are more important than the exposure.

"I got a suggest'n Sir." Lucy speaks up, mischief in her tired voice.

"You can keep it to yourself." I return after a moment to think, careful to not actually phrase it as an order. The tired laugh I get back isn't really like the vivacious woman, though given that while our guards at least have been able to get more sleep, that doesn't mean the fatigue didn't wear on them at all. "We lost good people in that hit, and probably more in making repairs."

"With respect, 'ats all th' more reason t' celebrate bein alive Sir. I think we all 'eard her scream, right b'fore all the cheerin from the bridge. What'd she do anyhow?"

"She hijacked their flagship's fire control for a few seconds."

"She what!?"

"Yep."

"By th' Throne."

…

…

With our armor piled haphazardly just inside the door to our room, Marcella and I make our way over to the door that faces onto the shared bath. I'm still not sure why it's built this way, but this time we have it to ourselves. The textured surface of the stairs leading down into the heated and filtered _pool_ actually feels nice after days in carapace boots, and I pause a moment to appreciate the scratchy surface, twisting my feet back and forth to relieve an itch I'd somehow forgotten I had. Behind me Marcella tries the same, first tentatively, then with gusto as she makes the same discovery. "Mmmm… Ohh that feels good."

"I noticed." Sitting down on one of the benches, I gesture her closer and pull her into my lap when she glides toward me. Just a moment to do nothing but hold her naked body close, and then I grab the soap to start scrubbing her down. Sure, we _could_ each wash ourselves, but this is so much more fun. She groans in relief as I scrub away days of built up dead skin and oils, the rough surface of her Rethian coral-loofah taking off the top several layers to leave fresh pink skin behind without being painfully scratchy. The freshly exfoliated skin is also exquisitely sensitive, with every touch of my soap-slicked fingers making her squirm in sensual delight as I work her over. The squirming may be more tired than usual, but the relief and elation of having won is one hell of a drug.

Setting the loofah back in its nutrient bath, where the tiny corals native to its structure will devour every trace of detritus and hunt down every bacterium, leaving it clean every time, but still full of tiny animals. "I still don't get what you see in those things." She just laughs, not interested in re-treading the teasing about bath products just now. Instead she'd rather slide off my lap and just float in front of me while I detangle her hair. Growing ten centimeters while stuffed under her helmet hasn't done the top any favors, though the majority was left dangling on the outside and thus not subject to the mistreatment.

I have to wait until the constant current carries away the current soaps before starting with the oils she uses for the purpose, slathering my hands before reaching into her hair and starting to massage her scalp. She moans and shivers when I set to work, and I smile a bit, shifting the pattern my fingers are making against her scalp to draw more moans and whimpers out of her, teasing mercilessly until she calls me on it. "Weren't you going to untangle it?" There's reluctance to ask me to stop, but she reminds me anyway and I laugh, moving to do as she asks. It's quite the procedure, and normally something she'd have a skilled servant do while on dry ground, but after a bit of working on it I'm able to work the knots loose and set her hair fanning through the water around us, drifting in the direction of the gradual flow toward the filters. "I think that might reach your knees now."

"Maybe… But now it's your turn… In a minute." She just floats in that relaxed state for a bit longer, then twists around and gets her feet under her, standing up and grabbing the simple polymer scrub brush I favor. Oh, sure, the handle is ivory, but I've yet to find a natural material I like better than plain nylon bristles. Bit of a funny point of agreement between the two different lives I remember, and also something Marcella enjoys teasing me about sometimes, sticking cheap scratchy bristles in a nice handle. But I _like_ the scratchy bristles!

Case in point, the scratchy bristles scratching my itchy back as 'Cella scrubs, soap frothing up around us as she does. Her hands behave themselves about as well as mine did, wandering and groping the areas she's already cleaned, her perky nipples tracing patterns on my back as she pulls herself just close enough to tease us both that way. "I really wish our rooms had individual baths."

"Obviously."

"EEEK!" "GAH!"

"Oh, don't mind me, I'm just going to slip in at the other end. Carry on playing." Both of us turn away after glancing over when she spoke up, but that glimpse was quite enough. The membranous folds of skin connecting her arms to her sides and legs are normally hidden by her robes, which is good since the human-flying-squirrel look isn't great for anybody.

"AUNTY!"

"Come now, there's no need for that. In another five months I'm suspect I'll be quite lovely."

"You're still determined to do that?"

"And why not? I don't believe Eta has obtained a _different_ subject for testing the effects on mutation."

* * *

Nursing at a large canister of kaf, Thalia Casuat sits in the middle of the choir chamber, eyeless sockets peering intently into the distance, keeping a careful watch on events through the eyes of others several kilometers away. The rest of the choir are still reeling from the earlier scream and wresting of control, the first to distract their target for the second. The resonance of the chamber is still perfect for amplifying telepathy even without the others, and with the brutal demonstration of just how improved her health is… She's certain to find easy recruiting for the additional two Lord Tristain bargained for.

Right now though she's listening to the thoughts of the pirates as assault shuttles full of Winterscale Security Forces approach the split-hulled destroyer hanging off the starboard side of the ship. With everyone relatively stationary, and much closer, it's easier to grab hold of a mind for just a moment, to look through a pair of eyes here, to jolt a finger there. A supremely poorly placed bit of friendly fire, just as the assault shuttle docks, and the pirates hiding behind the first barricade are out of position.

Around her frost forms on the black granite floor, presumably also forming on the talons inlaid in gold on the floor behind her, the body of the Aquila rising up the wall to place the heads at the ceiling, the wings wrapping around everyone within protectively. She wraps her robes around her more tightly against the chill, and takes another gulp of her piping-hot kaf. "Thanks Miss Casuat." The voice comes through her comm-bead.

"You're welcome Major." She sends back. "Just give me a minute or two before I can do that again safely."

"No problem."

* * *

"Alright soldiers, our foot's in the door, let's peel 'er open. We have psyker support for a change, and they don't come any _less_ heretical than those Astropahts. Touched by The Emprah Himself! Anyone doesn't like it, they can go first without 'er. Move out!"

"HOOAH!"

 **Segmentum Obscurus**  
**Koronus Sector**  
**Koronus Passage**  
**Witch-Cursed System**  
**Heavy Transport - Writ of Surplus**  
**9.294.736M41**  
**Mandeville Point: Battle site**

After the last several days, simply waking up peacefully is a very welcome change. Marcella's hair has manages to spread everywhere in the bed over the past shift of sleep, tangling around both of us without a sleeping braid to keep it contained. It's… _beautiful_. Even if it's inconvenient I gladly help her with it, shoulder a share of the inconvenience. I've always found red hair gorgeous, and hers was amazing even before the length and abundance increases. Taking a deep breath through my nose, I nuzzle my way through the portion directly attached to her head and continue on to nuzzle her scalp beneath. Clean and fresh and _her_. _Mine._ "Cum for me." She's facing away, the little spoon in my protective embrace, so I can't see her face directly.

I can imagine it though, her eyes flying wide open with a start, lips parting silently for a second before she draws a sharp gasp "Uh-h-h-hah!" And moans out her pleasure. "Hnnnnnng!" Her body trembles in my arms for a while, more shuddering gasps and breathless sounds of pleasure before tapering off, leaving her breathing deeply and almost certainly smiling. "You have far too much fun with that."

"Would you rather I didn't?"

"Haven't you asked that question before?"

"Hmm… Several times I believe. So your answer hasn't changed?"

"No."

"We seem to still be in the Materium, but the reactor sounds calm. They must be working over the derelicts. Shall we see how that's turning out?"

"Later." With that she starts trying to untangle herself tugging locks of hair out from under both of us, unwinding them from limbs, and generally freeing her movement. I help out a bit, getting first a smile, and then the reward of watching her dive headfirst under our covers, coppery banner trailing behind. Her soft fingers quickly locate my morning wood teasing up and down my shaft a few strokes with feather-light touches of her fingernails, hot breath ghosting across the tip. I can feel the unevenness of her breathing, the way holding back like that is teasing her too with the orders to enjoy doing this.

It doesn't take long for her to give in, though admittedly if she _didn't_ I was probably going to grab her head soon, neither of us willing to wait any longer. Soft lips slide across my tip, her tongue lapping out to deposit trails of saliva, lapping eagerly with quick little motions. I can easily picture the flashes of pink as she does it, memories near at hand. Trails of warmth cooling quickly mark where she's deliberately drooling, and her fingers stroke more firmly as she spreads it around, until finally she opens wide and envelops my tip in her mouth, suckling eagerly. She moans happily then, the sound tingling pleasure as it passes to my sensitive cock, only to cut off with a soft "glurk" as she presses forward.

Thick as I am, I've been careful to remain within the bounds of what she can take with maximum human elasticity, it's a tight fit, but one she's eager to experience time and again. Orders not to gag if she doesn't want to make it easy for her to simply swallow me down despite that tight fit, and the rippling around my shaft as she swallows repeatedly on the way down is exquisite. Reaching bottom she pauses a moment, as though bracing, and then her throat starts convulsing violently. Her body shudders against her self control for a few long seconds, instinctive attempts to eject me instead simply providing more slithering pleasure along my shaft, and then she stops again, calmly pulling back to take a few gasping breaths.

"You are _amazing_." I tell her, fingers massaging her scalp while she pants. Then she's pressing forward to swallow me again. The easy motions on and off belie the difficulty between, and though I have no idea _why_ she chooses to gag around me when I'm fully embedded in her throat, I can't deny it feels amazing. She seems to make a game of how long she can stand it, and the smell of her pussy up closer to my head is, well _heady_. Wriggling an arm around to reach, I manage to curl a thumb around to stroke her clit while my hand cups the front of her hip. It's an awkward angle, but it's what I can figure out how to reach while she's trying successfully to drag my brain right out of my balls. It doesn't take her that long either before I'm erupting down her throat, and I can feel her pussy twitching under my thumb as she joins me in bliss.

Afterwards while we're both still breathing heavily, she declares " _Now_ we can go ascertain the situation." A few more panting breaths and she adds "That was too long without." And a grumbled "Aunty ruining the mood."

"Yeah, well. Not _too_ long and someone else will be ruining the mood." I lay a splayed hand against her belly, and despite not having line of sight, I could swear her smile lights up the whole room.

* * *

"Good morning Captain." I greet upon entering the bridge. She doesn't look up immediately, instead remaining focused on something displayed on the central mapping table. Approaching curiously I find the outline of a cobra class, partially filled in with deck plans. As I get closer the captain still doesn't look up, but beckons me closer without looking, or even halting her speech over the comms.

"Judging from the rearrangement here, the hallway along the spine won't be a straight shot. If they shifted petty officer quarters to add switchbacks, the senior officers quarters might be too. Try a deck below and come up… Sorry, not right now… Yes, I'll authorize the use..."

As I pass arm's reach, she grabs a stack of parchment off the corner of the table and slaps it against my chest without looking. "Pick two." She instructs as an aside to her current conversation. "And go check on Casuat."

"Sorry, what?" Looking down at the files in my hands, I find a listing of the dozen astropaths' aboard. Blinking a few times, I turn to one of the adjutants standing around the captain. "What did Thalia _do!?_ " I ask in low tones.

"Same friendly fire trick, only on infantry." He answers in equally quiet tones. "Put herself in the infirmary with frostbite… somehow."

What the- that doesn't make any sense. She should be immune to that sort of environmental hazard. "I'll go check on her." Turning back to Marcella, clearly listening to what's being said while taking minimal steps out of the way as crew walk past, I head past her toward the door.

"Frostbite? Really?"

"Not sure how she managed that."

When we exit the bridge less than a minute after entering we get some strange looks from Harley and Edith, our guards of the moment. "What's the news Sir?" Edith asks, falling into step.

"Thalia gave herself frostbite, and apparently something she did has the astropaths lining up for collars, so I have to pick two."

"How'd she give herself frostbite? The choir chamber isn't anywhere near the hull."

"I intend to ask."

…

…

The officer's infirmary is currently in a configuration I never hoped to see. The officer's gym across the hall has been cleared out to make space for more beds, and the whole space is a sea of sterile white and gleaming steel, folding gurneys deployed to hold row after row of patients. Most still have bits and pieces of carapace strapped to uninjured body sections, with only the required components removed to treat their injury. The coppery smell of blood assaults the nose, and the groans of the injured fill the air.

Eta appears to be temporarily out from under observation, a whirlwind of mechadendrites filled with medical tools working her way down a narrow walkway between two rows of gurneys, treating four patients at once while several scrub nurses hover around her to continuously provide sterile tools. I hesitate to approach her like this, since she certainly appears very busy, but she's apparently not to busy to call out to me. "Lord Tristain, I assume you're here about Thalia."

"Er, yes."

"She's cognizant of her surroundings, but I can't say more until the rime ice melts. I don't want to risk harming her by removing it too quickly."

"Sorry, _what!?_ I heard she had frostbite, what the Warp happened?"

" _The Warp_ I expect. She set off the environmental alarms in the choir chamber. Observation room three." With that she moves on to the next set of patients.

Glancing at 'Cella, I find her already hurrying in that direction, dancing between gurneys and medical personnel as she goes. I've been getting better at that particular trick, but here and now isn't the place to practice. Heading off to the side, I go around to meet back up at Thalia's room, Harley and Edith following along. Inside I find 'Cella curiously poking the currently ice-covered astropath, and clear my throat. She startles a little, but doesn't actually stop, just looking at me instead.

 _"Hello milord."_ Thalia's voice greets. _"I apologize for the cold shoulder. The humidity in the choir chamber might need to be reduced."_

"Are you-"

_"If you want to speak to me, I'm sorry, but I can't hear through this ice. It doesn't hurt, but I am very very cold. Your collar seems to have forced my backlash to manifest in the same manner every time, no matter how I pushed, and I abused the gift. Please understand, I was conserving_ _**The Emperor's** _ ___currency."_

I bring one hand to cup the side of my face. I can't even reprimand her like this, she can't hear it. Even if I could… In hindsight she acted exactly correct. Taking the two steps over to one of the visitor's chairs, I take a seat with a sigh. After a performance like hers I can let her enjoy being close to me while she thaws, and she still has another reward coming later. Besides, I have dossiers to read through. I definitely want to coordinate with both her and Eta before picking, but I'd also like to know more about them first.

 **Segmentum Obscurus**  
**Koronus Sector**  
**Koronus Passage**  
**Witch-Cursed System**  
**Heavy Transport - Writ of Surplus**  
**9.294.736M41**  
**Mandeville Point: Battle site**

The dossiers are, well… It's like reading resumes. The word of how the collars turn men into women has already spread through the ship like wildfire, and the astropaths unsurprisingly have their fingers on the pulse of the rumor mill. Also unsurprisingly, they're _all_ supremely interested in what Thalia has, the ability to discard their eternal worry about the perils of the warp… It's a dream come true for them, an unachievable perfection dangling before them with only two having permission to actually get it.

The youngest of the born-female astropaths even included a rather saucy pict-capture of herself, posing seductively with a sheet of… I'm not sure what that cloth is called actually, the stuff normally used for veils? Either way, it technically covers her but hides nothing. "Heh." Handing it over to Marcella, I let her have a minute to appreciate the sight and imagine a collar around the slender neck. The woman's in her forties according to her dossier, but seems to have aged well. Also a risk-taker given that she knows I'm married, but I suppose she's putting stock in the collars being as sexual as they look, which is fair.

One of the men applying includes a request to don the collar in private, sight-unseen so that I have no memory of what he looked like before. 'A new start in a new body.' That one gets first placement in the discard pile. It's not a permanent 'no', but it would prevent me from observing Eta's testing which I don't like. Maybe he can work his way into one after they've been more completely studied, and the partial results returned to the Mechanicus. For now I need to be seen cooperating fully with Eta, even if she's soon going to be cooperating fully with _me_.

The dossiers are honestly pretty same-y for the most part, the lives of astropaths so similar after their sanctioning that the biggest differences are just what ships and worlds they've served on. Personality doesn't really come through on the page, aside from things like the gumption to attach a saucy picture, or the request to transform in privacy. They're all skilled telepaths as one would expect, with a few other techniques scattered in for flavor. I'd cheerfully collar them all if I could get away with it right now, but I can't.

"Think we can keep aunty out of the bath while we de-ice her?' Marcella asks quietly.

"Not a chance." I answer. "Should we do it anyway? She's going to take forever to thaw like this… We should ask Eta if it's safe though."

…

…

This _has_ to be one of the stranger sights that's passed these halls since their construction. Not the strang _est_ maybe, but up there somewhere. An armswoman pushing a gurney holding an ice statue of an astropath, the thick coating over the patient's skin transparent enough to see through, while thick enough to still prevent all movement. The rest of our guards manage to join us well before we return to the Navigator's quarters, which makes gently manhandling Thalia around much easier. _"No dignity."_ Lucy snorts, and I assume she received the same message.

The infirmary apparently _has_ facilities for treating full-body frostbite, but they're rarely used and currently folded away. Deploying them would require displacing beds holding wounded troops, and with Thalia seemingly in no actual danger it was ruled unnecessary. Learning that a soak in warm (not hot) water is actually the _recommended_ method for treating frostbite and hypothermia was reassuring.

It's fortunate that we have wide doors in our quarters, from the entrance to the bedrooms to the ridiculous bath, and on entering the final room several pairs of eyes light up. "C'n I join Sir?" Lucy asks first.

I pause a moment before answering, a phantom voice teasing us about how forward she's being, but Silvea's on the bridge right now, and Graig is sleeping. Unlike Silvea, I trust him to _stay_ asleep unless we disturb him. "You may." And Marcella preempts my answer. That's fine. When several hands start going to armor latches though I hold up my hand.

"If more than two of you want to join us, draw lots, or straws, or something." Haley and Edith look a bit torn, but then simply back out, leaving Ligia, Jezmine, and Lucy to decide among them. Lucy takes the lead, holding out her left palm with right fist resting atop and starting to smack them together. Looking at Marcella, I share a moment of amusement at the three playing rock paper scissors for the right to bathe with us.

After a few moments it's Lucy and Ligia who luck out, Jezmine looking disappointed. "This won't be the only opportunity Jezmine." I reassure her. "You three delay Silvea if she puts in an unexpected appearance." I instruct, to their amusement. "And warn us if she does."

As they leave the rest of us strip down, working quickly instead of trying to be seductive about it, so that we can get our frozen astropath in the water. "You know, it occurs to me that the collar isn't just protecting her from frostbite." I comment, wincing a little as my hands try to get a grip on her. "Given that she _hasn't suffocated yet_."

"Huh, yeah." Lucy answers, then gasps when she gets closer for better leverage and one dusky nipple brushes against the icy shell. "Hooo! That'll wake ya up!"

Careful not to drop her, we carry Thalia down into the bath, the water warm enough to feel nice and relaxing, without being hot enough to require limiting immersion times. The icy shell crackles on contact, not unexpected but still a bit of a fright, Thalia's surging fear shining through to our minds before turning a bit golden as she starts praying for this to go well. Eta says it will, so I'm not too worried. Taking seats around her, we start slowly spinning her in the water, making sure she's thawing evenly as much as we can, taking turns since it only actually requires a couple people.

Even in warm water, ice that thick takes a _while_ to melt, but eventually there's a sharp gasp and she starts audibly shivering, her jaw vibrating with the cold as she tries to speak. "Thththank y-y-y-you m-mil-lordddd."

"You earned it and more." I answer. "First with their fire control, then with their personal weapons. You've done The Emperor's work this past day, and seeing to your health afterwards is the least of the rewards you're due." Reaching out, I pull her into a hug, ignoring the chunks of ice still encasing parts of her. "So what is it you want?"

"Y-y-you m-milord. I-i-ifff y-your w-wife p-p-perm-mitttts."

"You won't be the first." Marcella reassures her. "But I'm going to watch."

"And probably more." I add teasingly.

"A-a-a-a-fter I-I'mmm warm ththththough."

"Naturally. You still have more reward coming though, since that's a request we would have granted for the asking." At that point I let go and help her move around more in the warm water, the continuous slow flow carrying away cooled water to be re-warmed. "And no Lucy, I haven't forgotten that you answered _yes_ to the question of whether you wanted to be ordered to our bed. Once we re-enter the warp, that night you will attend us."

Lucy moans at that, and Ligia laughs. "I-I s-s-see th-th-e rumors are t-true milord." Thalia remarks.

"They are, but not officially."

 **Segmentum Obscurus**  
**Koronus Sector**  
**Koronus Passage**  
**Witch-Cursed System**  
**Heavy Transport - Writ of Surplus**  
**9.294.736M41**  
**Mandeville Point: Battle site**

Once the ice is melted, I simply take a seat on one of the benches and pull Thalia into my lap. She's still cold, still shivering even in the warm bath, her skin cool against mine but quickly warming with the passage of time and the flow of warm water. She's tall enough to make her head slightly higher than mine when sitting in my lap like this, a stark contrast to Marcella, even a little taller than Ligia. Of course, that's only if she doesn't lean her head back against my shoulder, letting her lengthening raven-black hair pool on the side of the bath. The stuff is shoulder-length now, and combined with the sligh epicanthal folds that stayed when the rest of her wrinkles faded, there's a hint of her ancient ancestry in there… Or maybe she's from a world where those are still advantageous traits, hard to say since forty thousand years is enough time to evolve those traits all over again.

As she rests in my lap like this, I take the opportunity to let my fingers wander, tracing lines up her ribs and teasing around the edges of her breasts. She sighs contentedly and relaxes further, slouching against me nigh-bonelessly as the warmth and pleasure sink in. Looking across the alcove, I find Marcella's green eyes glittering as she watches intently, chewing on her lip a bit as she does. My fingers spiral in around Thalia's breasts, working toward her pink nipples teasingly, closer and closer until finally… I start spiraling back out again. Thalia lets out a startled sounding plea then "But!.. How is a young man patient enough to tease like this?"

"Oh, you have no idea." Marcella answers with a wry shake of her head.

"And how many points of comparison do you have hmm? I'm sure you've had your share of experience in a couple hundred years, but how many were my age?"

"Three. All while aboard the Charon Shroud. None of us wanted to die virgins."

"Oh, sorry I brought it up."

"Don't be." She turns her head to kiss my cheek. "It was a very long time ago."

"I suppose it was." With that I resume moving my hands, one continuing to wander around her breasts, teasing and tantalizing, drawing her nipples into what must be achingly hard peaks without actually touching them. The other wanders downward, sliding over her taut belly and caressing her mound where it rises up, then diverting off to the side before actually reaching her slit, instead lightly scratching along her inner thigh down to her knee, water-softened nails too soft to do any damage, but hard enough to feel. Her hips rock just a little, an involuntary jerk, and I chuckle.

"I can feel you pressing against my back." She defends, but I just chuckle more, deliberately pushing my delight at how responsive she apparently is outside the bounds of mind defense. I can tell when she picks it up, because she starts laughing too, tilting her head back in an exaggerated rolling gesture that manages to convey an eye-roll without actual eyes. "Milady, your lord husband is playing with me."

"He's barely started."

"What?" Thalia raises her head to look, and finds Marcella grinning at her.

"Are you warm?"

"I am now milady."

"Then let us take this to the bedroom. Ligia can help me braid my hair to keep it out of the way while I watch you. From there…" She trails off.

"You don't want it spread all over the bed?" I tease.

"I'd have to wash it again."

"True."

"Why?" Lucy asks, sounding genuinely curious as I help Thalia to her feet. She's a little wobbly, and a hand under her butt finds areas slicker than water could account for, evidence of victory.

"Because no matter how careful we are, _someone_ will get fluids on it." Climbing the steps out of the bath, she turns to Lucy and scoops an arm behind her back to gather her hair, holding it out to the side so the sopping mass hangs like a curtain from her arm, showing off just how much of it there is. The four of us left in the bath stop a moment to ogle, and 'Cella blushes when that realization hits.

Then I have cause to blush a bit when I step out of the bath and get a few whistles myself as I turn around. "Hoo… 'f I was still a man, I'd be jealous." Lucy comments, staring blatantly. Then she falters a bit "...Uhm, I've only tried a couple fingers so far, so…"

"Don't worry." Thalia reassures her. "He's exceptional, but still much smaller than a baby's head." Reaching up she gives me a squeeze, gripping her fingers in sequence to produce a rippling effect that nearly makes me groan after the teasing in the bath. "Nice and firm. Most men that size are a bit squishy even when hard."

Toweling each other off is another excuse to grope and fondle, though getting Thalia completely dry is neither desired nor possible. Her smile is somehow both excited and peaceful, an odd expression I guess comes with age and experience. She's eager to bed me, but at her true age there's no call for nervousness about it anymore, not now that she knows Marcella approves… And when I think about it _that_ way, suddenly _I'm_ the nervous one. Marcella has pretty much exactly as much experience as I do. Ligia and Jezmine were already experienced, but not _that_ much more. Thalia has centuries on me even counting both lives.

Proceeding into our bedroom, I sweep Thalia off her feet and lightly toss her onto the bed, letting her bounce a few times before climbing on after her. She laughs with the joy of the moment, spinning around and pulling me down by my shoulders for a quick kiss before trying to roll us over to put her on top. When I don't just immediately let her, she speaks up. "Oh yes, you can't hear her mind. Marcella wants to watch me ride you." Taking her word for it, I roll over with her and press my head back into the bed to look up across the room to Marcella. She's watching intently, and Ligia is apparently trying to both watch and braid her hair at the same time. It's going to be uneven, but that's fine for now.

Turning my attention back to the pleasantly aggressive woman atop me, I watch as she lifts herself up on her knees, on hand reaching up for one of the canopy supports while the other grasps my cock to position it at her grooling lips. As thin as she is overall, her pussy is quite puffy when she's this aroused, outer lips engorged with arousal and squeezing out of the way as she starts to sink down. Her face is pointed directly at Marcella, though since the direction of her head has little to do with the direction she's actually looking I couldn't say she's meeting her gaze.

Sinking down onto me, Thalia groans in pleasure, starting high and sweeping down the scale as she sinks, ending on a lovely throaty note that serves to emphasize just how stuffed she's feeling. "Ohhh, that's been too long." Pulling herself back up, leaning back a bit so Marcella has an even better view, she continues speaking between her moans. "It's been- hmmm- a hundred years- hnng- since I've had one this thick, and he didn't- guah!- get this _hard_." Her hips roll this way and that, quickly settling into a circular grinding motion that makes it difficult to think. Inside it's even better, her newly refurbished muscles still having the benefit of however much experience, clenching and rippling in a manner guaranteed to suck my dry in short order. "Your husband is- ahhh- amazing milady. Unnf- Thank you for-"

So instead I let my hands wander on their own, zeroing in on her breasts and starting to play with her nipples, the first pinch interrupting her with a gasp and causing her arch her back even more. Leaning forward into my grasp, her verbal praise cuts off in favor of just enjoying the feelings. She seems to really enjoy sharper pinching and a little twisting, a desire I'm thrilled to oblige. There's something wonderful about watching the play of expressions across her face, and the way her exquisite muscle control simply _shatters_ as she goes flying over the edge. She's nearly vibrating inside and it's just the thing to take me with her, and I curl up toward her as her back arches, pulling myself up with my abs to reach her neck, sucking with abandon.

She loses her grip on the canopy support and flops down on me, my grip on her nipples making for one last yank when my hands are unexpectedly forced away, and her voiceless pleasure finds voice, a squeal of delight erupting in my ear. Then she's done, and so am I, though aftershocks keep hitting her and making her clench again, ensuring there's no chance of me going soft.

Thalia laughs in the aftermath of her release, the sound full of joy and release. Then she rolls off of me with a sensitive whimper and writhes around to put her butt near the edge of the bed, letting her legs hang off the edge with her toes pressing against the floor. Propping herself up on one elbow, she reaches down and spreads her puffy lips, and while I don't have the angle to see it, I can hear the squelch when she clenches down to squeeze some of my seed out. "Look milady. He gave me so much! Eta confirmed I'm fertile again, but my cycle's still irregular. I have no idea if it's a safe day." It _is_ , because I say so, but I'm not telling either of them that.

Watching as Thalia scoops up some of our mixed juices and shows it to Marcella, I'm treated to a needy moan from my wife when our Astropath sticks her messy fingers in her own mouth and sucks them clean with deliberate relish. "Is that what you want milady? Your man seeding other women? Having them ask you first? He's wonderful and virile and he's _yours_. Yours to share, yours to keep, but you're generous to us. He can't get you pregnant again, and he has so much seed to go around, why shouldn't you be generous?

Glancing over at Marcella, I can tell this talk is having one hell of an effect on her. She's staring and licking her lips. Ligia, having finished with her braid, is also watching. Even Lucy seems to be holding her breath.

Rising to her feet, Marcella takes the few steps to the bed and places one hand against Thalia's sternum, pushing her back down to the bed. Then she climbs on herself and spins around to straddle the taller woman. She' can't both reach Thalia's lips with hers and sit on Thalia's face, but I'm hardly going to object to her solution. "Husband, _take me_." She demands before lowering her head.

As I squeeze into Marcella's wonderfully tight and familiar pussy, I lean down to reach under her and start playing with her nipples, also getting a good view of her as she goes for her first taste. She's tasted Jezmine before, and cleaned Ligia off of me more than once, but this is the first time she's eating a creampie I left for her. As her little pink tongue laps out, there's a squeal from between my knees as Thalia lets the room know she's _incredibly_ sensitive after her orgasm. There's a brief pause, and then Marcella laughs before digging in, seemingly trying for the loudest cries she can get. "Milady! MILADY! EEeeeEEE!" Her legs start to come up to clamp around Marcella's head, but I put my hands on her knees and force them apart, watching her succumb to a bit of overstimulation while I rock my hips, my still-sloppy cock driving deep in my wife and mixing all three of our fluids around.

Thalia's legs tremble under my hands, muscles still trying to clamp tight around 'Cella's head, the sweet agony of intense stimulation bringing her to another climax well before she's been emptied of my cum. "Please please pleaseplease- Oh! THHHrone! I-" The slurping and spluttering provide lewd counterpoint to her cries of passion, and despite her inexperience 'Cella seems to have little difficulty driving her over the edge again. Once she's been brought to climax once Thalia appears to cum from an open bolt, to mangle a metaphor.

Sadly she can only go so long, and after a dozen climaxes torn from her slender body her cries take on a tone of distress. "Milady! No more! Please! Stahahahp!" As Marcella does, Thalia's pussy is revealed to be quite red, her clit standing proud and aching, inviting more than she can actually handle. Reluctantly I pull out of Marcella for the moment so we can let our toy up, and the woman gingerly brings her legs together with a whimper. "That was… wonderful." She informs us breathlessly. "I haven't been this sensitive since I was your age."

"I thought women being able to do that was a myth!" Lucy exclaims, finally finding her breath after watching open mouthed.

"Many can't." Thalia answers. "Not without help." Slowly climbing to her feet, she turns to face us and bows. "I very much want to do this again milady, milord. But the time I spent in ice and with you has already cost lives. I needed to recover, but I must return to helping the boarders."

"Have you slept?" I ask, and she nods.

"A few hours, in the ice. It wasn't the most restful, but I can function."

"Very well. Have Harley and Edith procure some… I don't know what the right equipment is, but something to keep you from icing over again."

"Trench stove." Ligia speaks up. "And a couple promethium canisters. They can help you get the baffles set right"

As she limps over to grab the spare robe Eta sent with us, I tell her. "May the Emperor guide your mind."

"Thank you." She watches longingly as Marcella climbs into my lap again, despite her own inability to continue for the moment. Then she limps back over with her robe hanging over her frame and leans in for a kiss, first from me, then from Marcella. Then she turns to leave, forcing herself not to limp tellingly.

After she's departed, I look over at Lucy who's still watching avidly as I play with Marcella's body, her petite frame facing away from me with my cock buried inside. "Remember Lucy, the evening after we next enter the warp-" I glance momentarily at Ligia. "-Three quarters second shift. You will attend us." I trail my eyes down her caramel skin lasciviously. "We're going to put your new body through its paces."

"Y-Yes Sir." She licks her lips.

"Oh, and Lucy?"

"Sir?"

"No climaxing between now and then."

"What!?"

 **Segmentum Obscurus**  
**Koronus Sector**  
**Koronus Passage**  
**Witch-Cursed System**  
**Heavy Transport - Writ of Surplus**  
**9.297.736M41**  
**Mandeville Point: Battle site**

"Gabriele Laroe." I greet as she enters the room. The office isn't used all that often, but as technical command officers there _is_ an office for the Navigators, aside from our quarters and the spire. "Have a seat." She's already a beautiful woman without a collar, and she knows it. Her glass eyes are well made and realistic, with just a tiny bit of machinery inside to make them look at whoever's speaking. It's a good illusion, but that's all it is. The curly blonde hair is less illusory, though the curls might just be styling. Not that it matters, since I can make them real if I pick her. As she sits down, she slowly crosses her legs with a smile, the motion only a little spoiled by the fact that she's wearing the standard uniform robes of her station.

"Lord Cassini. Lady Cassini."

"You realize the Captain saw the picture you included."

"Yes, but I don't care. The blessing you gave Thalia is worth any price. Not having to _worry_ about getting soul-eaten if I push too hard? Or if I simply make a mistake?" Her lips twist into a wry, sad smile. "I had a twin brother once. He made that mistake, I saw it happen…" Her shudder is very visceral, and it takes her a bit to resume speaking. "After that… I turned _myself_ in to the Black Ship when it came. Better eaten by The Emperor than one of those _things_. It was almost disappointing when I survived, but at least I was _less_ likely to be eaten. Removing the risk entirely?" She laughs humorlessly. "I may not be the most experienced of us on the ship, or the strongest, or the most skilled. But I'm also not the least, and I am… _was_ the most beautiful, but you already have the new most beautiful. Thalia cleaned up amazingly well with that thing."

"That she did." I shrug. "So far everyone other than my Wife has, but she started out nearly perfect so there wasn't much to improve. Her hair got a bit better." Smiling a moment I reach over to run my fingers through it, causing her to lean into my touch a bit. When I pull my hand back she has her own questions for Gabriele.

"Were you aware he's married when you attached the pict?"

"Yes. But much like the captain seeing, it's worth the cost. Either of you, both of you, whatever you want to do to me, if it buys me safety from daemons I'll do it. You want to tattoo your name on my skin? Go ahead. Or brand me if you'd prefer. Chain me up and leave me to rot? As long as I'm safe from daemons. Anything you want, _anything_. I'm not wealthy, I don't own anything of value, so… I'll sell you the only thing I _do_ have." Her desperation is shining through, and I get the feeling it's going to be a running theme as we work through the list. She was first by virtue of going in age-order, and I don't see _experience_ with the realities of being a psyker as something to reduce that desperation.

* * *

"Milord." Ostalan Dalbeck walks in and immediately takes a seat, leaning forward with elbows on knees and fingers steepled. He wears a strip of cloth like a blindfold instead of going for fake eyes. The sign of the Aquila is embroidered over one eye. "Before age weakened her and your collar changed her, Thalia was second or third in power, and sixth or seventh in precision. I'm last and first respectively, so if I see the same benefits, I will be a supremely sharp scalpel to her admittedly very sharp sword. Even with archeotech aid, I will likely never be as strong, but strength isn't always what you require."

"Very to-the-point of you. Not going to say anything about why you want it? Or how much you're willing to give?"

"Why bother?" He asks. "I want it for the same reason every other astropath on the Writ wants it. I could put it in fancy words, but it's still the same reason, and I'm still willing to pay everything." He shrugs. "You're wealthy enough already that my material possessions aren't worth mentioning, so my skill is all I have."

"Pragmatic."

"Given the stakes? Anything else would mark me as unqualified."

"You may have a point there."

* * *

Elodia Chandier doesn't bother sitting down when she walks into the room, instead she pulls an Aquila pendant out from under her robes, closes her lids over smoked-glass fakes, and takes a deep breath. Her already wrinkled brow furrows further, an expression of deep focus and effort being put into something. Her pendant starts glowing after a little while, and even through mind and soul defense I can _feel_ the glory pouring off the otherwise unassuming emblem of The Emperor. My jaw drops, and I'm sure Marcella's does too. It's barely to the point of working _at all_ , but even that is rather impressive.

Then the light goes out and she sags, stumbling over to the provided chair and flumping down, breathing hard. "That's all I have Milord. I hope it's enough."

"I'm certainly very impressed."

"Oh, good."

"Are you okay? That looked like it took a lot out of you."

"It did." She answers tiredly. "If I might... impinge on your hospitality... a few minutes... to catch my breath?"

"You may." Reaching into a desk drawer, I pull out one of the hydration pouches we stocked in advance. Mostly for ourselves since we anticipated a lot of talking, but with enough to share. "Here."

"Oh, thank you." Cracking the seal, she flattens the pouch in about ten seconds and resumes breathing deeply

* * *

"I'd prefer to see your face."

"I sincerely doubt that milord." Michal Gaunt replies. "My eyes did not exactly go quietly when I witnessed His Glory. The remains are… disturbing even to chiurgeons. It's a large part of why I asked for privacy to put one of your collars on. I've so far kept my face hidden from most aboard, and I'd prefer the first they see it be after it's repaired."

"Understandable I suppose, but Eta would need to see it to monitor the progress if nothing else."

"They have already seen it."

"Ok, so why should I choose you? I may have enough collars for more, but the Captain has only given leave to give them to two more astropaths aboard the Writ."

"I was nearly finished with Guard boot camp when the black ship took me." He reaches up to scratch the side of his chin, hidden in the shadow of his low-hanging hood. "I don't think any of the other options are combat trained at all, so 'almost trained' is the best you're going to get if you want that. Maybe your security squad has that covered."

* * *

On and on it goes, the stack of applications getting sorted out into the ones we'll consider and the ones we won't. Though it'll be after we're back in the warp when we can sit down with Thalia to get her insights on her coworkers.

 **Segmentum Obscurus**  
**Koronus Sector**  
**Koronus Passage**  
**Witch-Cursed System**  
**Heavy Transport - Writ of Surplus**  
**9.297.736M41**  
**Mandeville Point: Battle site**

With Thalia back in the game, now with a pair of giant promethium powered heat sources aimed at her, it doesn't take nearly as long for the boarding crews to finish the last of the resistance on the first pirate vessel. And once that's done several of our Enginseers make their way over to placate and interrogate the machine spirit of the Avaricious Tooth. Meanwhile Thalia seeks me out again for an embrace, heedless of the crewmen walking past as the door behind her slides shut. Marcella gets one too before she takes a seat, slouching a little with a sigh. For us it's the end of a day of interviews, after a good night's sleep, while she's had three full shifts of using her powers non-stop, interrupted by an icy time-out and a frozen nap before getting thoroughly fucked and going back out to work some more.

"You certain you don't need more sleep?" I ask.

"We can discuss the candidates with you tomorrow." Marcella adds.

She shakes her head. "I need to stay awake a few more hours as is. I find entry-shock is much worse if I'm asleep for it."

"Maybe not anymore, but none of the non-navigator wearers have experienced warp entry since putting it on."

"That would be a blessing… Do you have some kaf?"

"Certainly." Once we're settled, and Thalia is caffeinated again, I set out the short-list of folders, down to five from twelve. Taking a large gulp and grimacing at the heat, she sets her mug on the corner of the desk and leans in, brushing her fingers over the raised bumps in-line with the inked words. The other astropaths printing in a way they can read is convenient here, even if the pages don't stack as neatly.

"I wouldn't recommend Gaunt." She speaks up after a bit, setting his folder aside. "He's a good shot but…" She shrugs. "With a collar there are _much better_ things for one of us to spend time on in a fight, since they protect us from the worst of the backlash."

"As you've so wonderfully demonstrated over the past day." She smiles when I praise her.

"Thank you." The next folder she sets aside just gets a shrug. "Ansel's pretty mediocre for your purposes. As a ship's astropath he shines on transmission _rate_ , but he's actually a bit slow establishing his connections. I don't think it's what you need, but I could be wrong?"

"Maybe eventually." I comment. "But not now."

"Right…" She sighs. "The last three, I'd… I want to recommend Gabby, she's fun, but..." Her head starts to sag and she jerks a bit, shaking her head before looking up again. "Sorry. Gabby's fun, and I'd love to watch how enthusiastically she 'thanks' you." Marcella gets a wink that makes her blush. "But if you can only have two more, she doesn't make the cut. Elodia is first, Dal is second."

"What's your reasoning?"

"When these collars start getting around, you're _going_ to end up with inquisitorial attention." She makes the sign of the Aquila for a moment, and Marcella and I mirror her. "Her faith is strong enough to buy you time. As for Dal? His transmissions are needle-thin. He can send you a message without another astropath standing next to you being able to tell it happened."

"That does sound handy, but there's another aspect to the choice. It's not just about direct usefulness, it's about avoiding disaster. Ostalan sounds like he has enough control to avoid daemonic incidents pretty much indefinitely, but Gabrielle worries us."

Thalia thinks about that, then shrugs. "Maybe. She's definitely more open about her fear, but, well, an open mind…"

"-Is like a fortress with its gates unbarred and unguarded." Marcella finishes the quote from the Book of Atticus. Oft attributed to Sanguinius, but lots of the recommended thoughts of the day are.

"Bit of a conundrum." Leaning back, my eyes search the scrollwork around the edges of the ceiling, as though there'll be some answer hidden there. Heck, there might be given that some of the depicted scrolls have verses carved on them, but I doubt it. "Elodia is in, her purity of faith is too valuable to leave by the wayside. But do we go for most skilled or most at-risk?" Looking back down, I find Thalia nodding off again. "Come on, you can take a nap in our bed, we'll wake you before we head up to the spire for Entry." She smiles brilliantly at that offer, though still obviously tired.

…

…

It's the first time we've had one of our harem in bed with us without anything lewd occurring, and as I lay there with Thalia sleeping peacefully snuggled against me as the little spoon, I lift my head to look over her at where Marcella is the even smaller spoon. When I do I find her looking back at me, and we exchange a smile. It didn't take the woman more than ten seconds to fall asleep once we had her here, and then we discovered that she's a hugger, Marcella now being slightly trapped. She's one of the good huggers though, squeezing just right to be snuggly and comfortable.

* * *

**Segmentum Obscurus**  
**Koronus Sector**  
**Koronus Passage**  
**Witch-Cursed System**  
**Heavy Transport - Writ of Surplus**  
**9.298.736M41**  
**Mandeville Point: Battle site**

#Thirty seconds to Warp Dive.# The hymns blasting from the loudhailers all through the ship, and the crew singing along, have a much larger effect here in the Koronus Passage than they did back at Bilani. It's not that they're stronger somehow, but unlike there, _here_ is in the midst off a storm, the howling Immaterium unwelcoming to any intrusion and ready to deliver a sharp slap to the face should anyone stick their nose in. But stick our noses in we shall, leaving behind two little cobra destroyer hulls, now stripped of easily salvaged parts and cored-through with the dorsal lance for good measure. We can't take them with us, but there's no sense making it easy for the pirates to get them operational again.

Our shredded section of hull still has many of the crew triple-bunking, the discomfort likely to continue at least until we're clear of the passage. The outer hull armor has been patched with sections from the cobra we actually boarded, but it's not actually livable underneath. Naval Security troops armed with flamers patrol those torn and twisted halls now, just in case _something_ tries to get in. The ship's minister blessed their promethium as best he can in the middle of a storm, so hopefully it works if it's needed.

If things had gone to plan, I would have been handling this entry with Silvea standing by to take over and Graig on the bridge in case of incursion. My first turbulent entry. Not now though, not with a damaged ship. Instead I'm once again waiting on the bridge next to the plotting table, extra security guards stationed around the edges just in case. Graig is down near the damaged section of the hull, armored up and ready to tangle with any uninvited guests.

#Three#

#Two#

#One#

#Dive# The reactor thrums through the deck, and the Empyrean opens before us, though I can't see the actual rift from the bridge. The armored shutters are very tightly closed just like they're supposed to be.

As we pass through there's a horrid squamous sound from the port side followed by a scream and an echoing *B-BLAM!* Ducking behind the table, I assert my will on reality and force away any trace of warp energy that might have gotten in. Stabilizing the effect, I peek over the table to see what happened, and find one of the guards has only one arm now, his left ending at the elbow while his right is pointing his boltgun at the limb on the ground. The tentacly _thing_ squirms for a few more seconds before going still, evaporating under the weight of my attention.

Then the guard grabs the strap of his carapace just above the elbow and yanks it as tight as he can, reducing the blood loss to a trickle. "If you will excuse me Captain, I need the infirmary."

"Excellent reflexes armsman." Thorne commends. "Dismissed."

"That… _could_ have gone worse." I remark, standing up straight and holstering my sidearm again, along with half the bridge. "A lot worse." Tapping my comm bead, I ask "How are things there uncle?"

"They've definitely noticed the damage, but the gellar field is holding. We had a few mutations from the entry shock, but they've been dealt with." He transmits back to the bridge channel instead of my comm-bead, prompting a general sigh of relief and a number of signs of the Aquila.

As reports continue coming in over the next few hours, it's found that we had something on the order of a 0.5% mutation rate from that entry. It sounds low, but on a ship like this that's still over a hundred people. Ten bad enough to need The Emperor's Mercy.

Not that that's actually merciful, but most of the populace is in the dark about what _actually_ happens after death. One day it'll be safe to reveal the collars secondary application as soulstones. One day Eta will succeed in duplicating _that_ feature, so most human souls can make it to The Emperor, even if they have to be shipped there bulk freight.

 **Segmentum Obscurus**  
**Koronus Sector**  
**Koronus Passage**  
**The Warp**  
**Heavy Transport - Writ of Surplus**  
**9.301.736M41**  
**Est. arrival at The Battleground 9.346.736M41**

"Eta, how are you?" I greet. "We haven't had a chance to check on you in a bit."

"I am well. Disconcerted, but well. The pirate attack interrupted monitoring for a time, so there is some data loss, but the actual delta matches projections from monitoring prior to the gap. The collar's attraction subroutines are beginning to grow distracting, but my alterations are not yet sufficient to act on them."

Without asking, I reach up to stick my hand under her hood, stroking my thumb gently along a section of human skin covering her brow and down the side of her head a ways. The augmentics protruding in place of her ear are a bit smoother to the touch than they probably were a week ago, but don't seem to have any give yet. The skin is smooth and taut, showing none of the aging or weathering it might have had before. Eta leans into the touch, the muscles around her eyes tensing, closing partially reconstructed lids against the sides of the protruding lenses. There's a flash of silver in the motion, the new lids comprised of some supremely flexible alloy instead of skin, and on close inspection the nutrient intake and communication unit covering her jaw and nose has begun to merge more fully with the skin around it. More of that flexible alloy weaving out from the seam and blending the transition from flesh to machine.

Pulling my hand back from under her hood, I run a finger down that seam on instinct, and watch as she shivers a little, a burst of static emanating from her voicebox. "Is that better?"

"##...#Yes. ##Thank you." There's a hissing sound, and her torso expands a bit as though taking a particularly deep breath. Then she lets it out again. "The ##Perfection of the machine. The ##Form of man." She raises her left hand toward my face, matching the gesture I made moments ago, and I note that the array of little mechadendrites has already moved up her arm a ways, growing longer so they can still reach whatever she's working on. What's left behind looks like a diagram of human musculature in black composite and silver veins. The new artificial skin is starting to spread as well, the palm of her changed hand already complete. It's a bit cool against my skin when she cups my cheek, and I just smile. "The touch receptor density is## exceptional. The design is well known, but ##difficult to make so small."

"I'm glad you like it. We've come to some decisions about the Astropaths for further testing, so when you're ready to begin the experimental protocol again…"

"I still need to return my infirmary to ###standard operational configuration, once all the injured are discharged. ##Tomorrow at the earliest."

"Ok."

* * *

It's a very antsy Lucy who appears at the door, three-quarters second shift as commanded. Her eyes are already dilated and her breathing deep. "Come in." I stand aside and let her through, wishing I could see how flushed with arousal she already is, but she has such lovely caramel skin that it would be a shame to change it. I'm sure I'll learn her particular signs in time… Or I could just make her always turned on. The slightly mean thought wanders through, and I grin a bit.

"Sir?"

"Just thinking." My smile doesn't reassure her at all, and her eyes widen as I turn away to lead her to the bedroom. Once we're in the room and the door's shut, I turn to her and ask "Is there anything you wanted to say before we start?"

"Speakin freely?"

"You speak some other way?" I let her have the time to give me a flat look, then grin and nod. "Yes, speaking freely."

"That order was _cruel_ sir. Lookin forward t' this, b'not bein able t' get any relief? I've been drippin _all day_. I didn't know I could _get_ dehydrated that way!"

"Ah, but did you enjoy it? Answer honestly for the rest of the night."

"...No? Yes? I don't know sir."

"Hmm…" Raising my voice a little so Marcella can hear easily, I ask "So if I were to order you to _never_ climax without my cock in you?"

Lucy's eyes widen, and she lets out an unbearably sexy whimper. "Throne…"

"Did that question turn you on more?"

She clearly struggles with the answer, before finally complying with the order to answer honestly. "Yes."

"Let's try an experiment then. For the rest of the week, you may not climax without my cock in you."

"Fffrak. That's mean sir."

"The mere suggestion turned you on. After that week is up you can choose between another visit with us, or your own fingers." Leaning down, I pull her into a kiss, discovering that she's quite the aggressive kisser, her tongue flitting across my lips, before she sucks my lower lip into her mouth and bites down, stretching it out a bit as she pulls back before letting it go. "Ahem, I think we're both still overdressed." I start to reach for her armor latches, only for her to reveal she's done them up in quick-release configuration. "I don't think I qualify as an ingestion threat." I snark as her armor falls away.

"You don think I look tasty sir?"

"I didn't say that." Stripping off my own shirt and shoving my pants off, I find her already over on the bed kissing Marcella when I look up again. Walking over and pressing against Lucy from behind, I lean forward to get a closer look at their kiss. "You are a treat."

"MmmHmm." Marcella agrees, clearly preoccupied.

"You know, if you lie back you can keep kissing her while I take her." She doesn't have the _mass_ to make Lucy do anything really, but wrapping her arms around Lucy's neck and trying to lean back is a clear demand anyway. Lucy climbs on the bed to straddle 'Cella, my wife's robe falling open under her hands as she does and presenting me with a delectable view. Milk and caramel pressed skin to skin, with Lucy's trim pussy nearly crying with need. Her lips glisten in the light, and a little droplet hangs off her engorged clit for a couple seconds before falling to land a few centimeters away from 'Cella's. Their heights don't perfectly match, but I do look forward to watching those lips kiss at some point.

Stepping forward again, I slide my cock against Lucy's pussy, grinding it down along her slit to rub over her sensitive clit, drawing a cry of passion from her that's quickly muffled by another kiss. Her hips start bucking as I continue, trying to get me lined up so she can actually _cum_ , but too inexperienced at being a woman to really do the trick. Instead I grab her hips firmly, getting shaken around a bit myself by the strength in her legs and core, and hold tight against her to make sure I can stay in place. Leaning over her to get a better grip, I put one arm around her waist and reach down between her legs with the other, searching out her clit and starting to play with it.

"SIR! PLEASE!" She pulls away from Marcella to cry out, and I finally have mercy. Pulling away a bit, I get lined up and drive into her tight pussy with a punishing thrust. She's so sopping wet, so turned on, so _ready_ that what little of her collar-constructed hymen survived her own exploration barely even registers as it tears. Her mind too occupied by finally _finally_ being able to cum. She whines into Marcella's mouth, lifting the smaller girl off the bed as her arms wrap tight around her, squeezing hard enough to make her groan a bit.

Her pussy has absolutely no idea what to do, a few fingers not enough to gain any experience, my thick cock wildly outside the scope of what she's previously felt, and yet she's nearly vibrating around me as her muscles spasm through her first climax around something thick. The hand I still have against the top of her pussy can feel her clit trembling side to side, and I start pinching gently, rubbing my fingers back and forth to keep her going.

It works for a while, but eventually she runs out of steam and collapses on top of Marcella, liplock broken and joyous laughter pouring out. "Ohhhh wow. That-... Wow sir. I had _no idea_ girls could feel that good." More laughter escapes as she rolls off 'Cella, laying spread-eagled on the bed and staring up at the canopy without really seeing it. "I need more of that Sir… Ma'am."

"Oh, good, because it's my turn now." 'Cella speaks up. Sitting up she pulls her arms out of the sleeves of her robes and rolls over onto Lucy, their positions now reversed. It's an obvious invitation I'm not about to turn down.

 **Segmentum Obscurus**  
**Koronus Sector**  
**Koronus Passage**  
**The Warp**  
**Heavy Transport - Writ of Surplus**  
**9.306.736M41**  
**Est. arrival at The Battleground 9.346.736M41**

Sigh… "I'll be honest with you Ostalan… If the captain had approved putting these collars on three more Astropaths… _Or_ if the ship weren't damaged... You'd be number two."

"I'm not sure I understand. Why would I be two of three, but not two of two?"

"Because high-skill and low-power isn't an appetizing combination for daemons. You're probably more trouble than you're worth for them."

He nods, sagging in the chair and sighing. "Gabby's number three isn't she?"

"I guess it's telling that your mind went to her first. Yes, at least for now, leaving her un-collared is more dangerous than you are useful."

"I guess that's it then? I've lost my chance?" He stands up, clearly working to keep tight reign on his emotions. It's the same self-control that makes him an attractive conversion, but it's being sorely tested. "I doubt I'll ever be able to afford one naturally, safe psykers are worth… Heh, I can't even think of anything the Imperium wants more."

Standing up as well, I offer my hand. "True, but Thalia told me about your undetectable transmission trick. How many astropaths can manage that?"

"Not many. A percent maybe?"

"Well, once things shake out, get in touch again. I can't guarantee anything just yet, but I'm sure I'll need more than just three astropaths eventually… And I don't like letting _pirates_ force my hand. May The Emperor guide you until then."

"And you. Thank you for your honesty Milord."

After he leaves I sit back down and slump into the scintillan leather of my chair, letting the stress wash away. I didn't _have_ to tell him, but I had to tell him. By extension I'm sure I've told the rest of the choir as well, but if they start pestering the captain about it… Well, it's none of my doing. Tapping my comm bead, I call out "He's left. Took it better than I expected. I'll meet you in Eta's office in a few minutes." With the chance, however small, that he could have taken it badly, I wasn't willing to have Marcella in the room. I'm sure I'll pay for it later, but even with the collar protecting _her_ from any permanent death, I have no idea if it would protect _our child_ as well. As for myself… One-on-one I have zero doubts about being able to take him, I just didn't want to take any chances.

* * *

"Elodia, please, come in." Marcella and I stand to greet her, and she bows as we approach, straightening back up with an expression of hope and a beatific smile.

"You have made your decision milord?"

"I have." Reaching into an inside pocket of my coat, I pull out one of the collars, noting that it immediately has her _full_ attention. The innocuous looking band of silver and diamond laying over my hand has an undeniable gravity for anyone who knows what they do, even partially.

"Oh!" She flips back the hood of her robe and sinks to her knees, head bowed as if to receive a benediction. It's entirely unnecessary, but I have to admit I like the symbolism, even if we're not going to go along with it.

"Ahem. Eta needs to stick a bunch of sensors to you first." I correct, extending the hand not holding the choker.

"Oh." Grabbing my offered hand, she pulls herself back up and looks to the chiurgeon. "What do you need me to do?"

"#Disrobe." Elodia seems a little surprised, glancing at my presence before hesitantly reaching for the collar of her robe.

"I suppose you will see it soon in any case." There's another pause, bracing herself for the embarrassing act I suppose, and then she simply pulls the entire garment up and over, leaving herself nearly bare aside from a practical bra and panties combination. The color doesn't match, but I'm not sure she can tell without technological aid. Like most astropaths this far from Terra, she has a few miles on her. Hair starting to grey, skin starting to wrinkle and sag, but you can tell what used to be there. Sliding her butt onto the exam table, she works her way backwards to a comfortable seating position and looks to Eta. "Well?"

In a flurry of mechadendrites, a collection of little disks appear across her skin, leads trailing up to that port in the ceiling that leads to the data collection for the infirmary.

"Please stand ##Behind the subject." Eta instructs, and places a stand in front of her with various Imperial symbols mounted at the top. Auspex units of several descriptions are pointed squarely at the collection, clearly waiting for something to happen.

"Ready the #collar for rapid placement." Undoing the latches, I dangle it around Elodia's neck, her hair brushed to one side and out of the way.

"#Please express your faith. Once the iconography illuminates, fasten the collar."

This test is _very much_ a moment of truth. Either this works, or I get executed for tech-heresy, along with everyone I've already collared. I find myself praying alongside Elodia, deliberately trying to allow Him to see through Trace defense, to let Him know my plans to save the souls of Mankind from the predators of the warp. It takes an incredibly long fifteen seconds for the glow to start, brightening as her prayer continues, and then I close the catch.

The light goes out. My heart leaps into my throat, and I'm just about to start desperately issuing orders to try for some damage control when it returns far brighter than before. "Gah!" I squint my flesh-eyes shut, instinctively opening my warp eye in their stead, His Light being a warp-phenomenon without any doubt. Looking over Elodia's shoulder like this I have a moment to tell it looks very much the genuine article before it dims again and I can open my flesh eyes once more.

Marcella is also just opening her flesh eyes, and Eta is turning to look again after having shielded her gaze from ours. Elodia meanwhile, is laughing joyfully and sobbing at the same time. "Well…" I speak up. "I would _definitely_ call that a positive result. What was with the flash though?"

As her laughter tapers off, Elodia tries to explain. "When you are... trying to force a door open, you can fall through if it's suddenly unlatched."

"So it's easier now?"

"As though I were at the Scholastica Psykana. Like the storm and all the sectors between here and Holy Terra didn't exist! Oh it's _wonderful_."

"##Excellent. Readings are clear, recording## successful. You may re-dress, do not disturb the leads. We have## another to collar."

…

…

As we wait for Gabrielle to show, I sit with Marcella in my lap while Eta prepares the room. Of course, I'm using her to cover for my working on the sliders for Elodia. The usual adjustments pass quickly, setting her on her way to a fairly cute twenty one. Even with the 'set sliders to current' she's going to be a shortstack once the aging is reversed. Only a couple centimeters taller than 'Cella, and with a frame that might actually look wrong without abundant curves.

Grinning, I lean in closer to 'Cella's ear on a whim and whisper "Every time my lips touch your ear you will grow more aroused, but you will not climax until we're in bed." Then I start nibbling with my lips, carrying on for a few seconds to make sure she's off to a good start before leaning back and leaving her hanging. Her glare in return might be more threatening if all the heat in it wasn't the good kind.

 **Segmentum Obscurus**  
**Koronus Sector**  
**Koronus Passage**  
**The Warp**  
**Heavy Transport - Writ of Surplus**  
**9.306.736M41**  
**Est. arrival at The Battleground 9.346.736M41**

"Before we do this, I want to make something very clear Gabrielle." Her visible joy and relief seems immune to the tone of my rebuke. "You don't deserve this. You're only getting it because you're a liability after the attack. If we weren't making the passage with a damaged ship?" I shake my head. "You wouldn't be getting this." Holding up the choker, I pointedly look back and forth between it and her paling face. "This _should_ have gone to Ostalan. I want you to remember that. He'd be useful to me _with_ it, you're dangerous to me _without_. Understood?"

"Yes milord."

"Good, now strip so Eta can attach her sensors." Gabrielle blushes a bit at the command, then smirks and undoes the top two ties at the collar before simply letting her robe pool at her feet, rather the opposite of pulling it over her head as Elodia did. She's nude beneath, clearly having expected me to take advantage of her offer. I will certainly, but she's not exactly going to be getting me at my most caring. Her desperation could be fun for both of us if my hand weren't forced, as is though… "Given eternity, you might be able to pay this back." She hangs her head contritely, but her heart's not in it. She's going to be safe from daemons eating her, and that overwhelms any disapproval from me.

As Eta attaches the sensors, Gabrielle's mood continues to return to the heights from when she entered the room, her heart clearly soaring with the relief of her greatest fear. She doesn't have any special arrangements to test like she did with Elodia, so once the sensors are in place I simply clasp the choker around her neck and turn to leave, letting Eta collect her data in peace.

Some ways down the corridor I turn and lean against the wall, Marcella catching up and leaning against me. "She might not have intended it that way, but it feels like paying extortion." 'Cella just snorts daintily. "Collaring her _could_ have been a lot of fun." I add in a lower voice, sliding down the wall a bit so Marcella can reach my lips. "If we were picking her freely."

"She still can. You could give her the Lucy treatment without an end date."

"True… Actually that gives me an even better idea. But first, I'm going to nibble on your ears for a bit, and then carry you home." Her stifled whimper when I lean in and stop just short of contact is _perfect_ , and when I add Until we get home though, you aren't allowed to show any evidence of your arousal." she gasps softly. Then I actually do go for the kill, brushing my lips against the shell of her ear while exhaling slowly, the warmth and humidity of my breath playing across her delicate skin. Up and down, side to side, nibbling gently while her body grows ever more tightly wound. When I pull back she's clearly dazed and only holding it together by dint of the unbreakable order, so of course I switch sides and do it again.

Such intimate acts out in the hall, yet looking fairly innocent as such things go, serves to embarrass her to smithereens while also adding its own element of excitement. Anyone can see me kissing her ear, but they have no idea the storm it's brewing inside her. Finally judging her well done, I pick her up and carry her home again, not trusting even an unbreakable order to keep her knees from wobbling under the circumstances.

…

…

When I head for the sitting room instead of our bedroom Marcella squirms around in my arms, leaning in and biting my ear rather on the hard side. "What?" I ask in my best innocent voice.

"You _know_ what husband mine."

"But I still need to adjust Laroe's settings." Her eyes widen in indignation and she starts to open her mouth to yell at me, but I preempt her. "It'll only take a minute, but we don't want Eta getting the wrong right idea too soon." Nonetheless, I change directions again toward our bedroom, taking a seat by the door instead of on our bed to keep 'Cella stewing while I play with sliders. For the most part I make the usual adjustments, but since we only picked her due to being more the frightened child than _either of us_ , I figure it's only fair to drop her age slider below Marcella's. Not by much, but humiliating for a grown woman. She can be another outlier in the range of possibilities. Eventually I can 'figure out' how to set the defaults better and gain more control. Once I've had more time to explore the capabilities of course.

With that done, I return my attention to my _very needy_ wife, finding her laid out on the bed very temptingly. There's no shame left in her desire, simply laying with her legs spread and one hand holding her glistening lips open for my viewing pleasure, her eyes dark with pent up arousal. As I approach the bed I can see her bracing for another sudden orgasm when I make contact with it, so I stop just a little short to watch her squirm for a moment. "You know, I think I _like_ that command, to get aroused when my lips touch your ears."

"Trist, what are you?-"

Reaching out, I carefully avoid actually touching the bed as I drag her to the edge by her knees. "Ack!" She protests when I do this, and as I line myself up she starts pleading desperately. "Oh Trist please let me cum, I need it, you're terrible, you tease me so much and I-..." As I squeeze into her tight tunnel she momentarily loses the capacity for coherent speech, instead simply moaning loudly at the sensation of my cock stretching her wide. After careful testing we're a perfect fit. Were I any thicker, or her any tighter, I'd actually cause her pain. Instead it's just _perfect_. A little more length over the past month and I'm barely brushing her cervix at full depth. Not enough to cause any problems, just enough to put friction on the anterior-whatever-it's-called. Marcella reaches up blindly to grab my shoulders and _pull_ , her fingernails digging into my skin and starting to dig furrows in her passion.

Going along with the motion I slap a palm against the bed next to her head, making it exceedingly obvious that I _am_ now touching the bed. As the news percolates through her needy mind, I slide my arms under her and lift up a bit, twisting and sliding forward to put us more fully on our marriage bed, also protecting my back from more of her clawing.

With the restriction on climax lifted, and after less than half an hour at that, she shivers around me and shrieks out her pleasure for the whole home to hear. I don't even care if our aunt or uncle are home, I have 'Cella writhing in pleasure in my arms, my dick buried in the perfection that is her pussy, and she's absolutely beautiful like this.

…

…

" _You_ my dear, need to-HSSSS- trim your fingernails."

"You knew what you were starting, teasing me like that." She retorts as she applies disinfectant to my back. Then she giggles. "My legs are still tingly."

"Oh, good."

 **Segmentum Obscurus**  
**Koronus Sector**  
**Koronus Passage**  
**The Warp**  
**Heavy Transport - Writ of Surplus**  
**9.311.736M41**  
**Est. arrival at The Battleground 9.346.736M41**

"Well this is certainly nerve-wracking."

"You're telling me Sir?" Edith asks, hefting her currently issued flamer and adjusting her grip. Outside I can hear the howling through the imperfect patches, they're plenty solid, but don't keep every last sound out, sounds that weren't there to hear before warp entry. We're a hundred meters from the breach, but it's still clearly audible, and clearly disturbing to the rest of the contingent guarding a couple enginseers as they make further repairs inside the ship. Once we reach The Battleground there will be more crews outside again as we cross, and hopefully don't encounter anything particularly problematic.

For now though, they're re-gilding one of the Aquila statues lining the halls, the chipped surface isn't as good as it could be for conducting the Gellar Field, and at the moment every last bit of efficiency and effectiveness is to be extracted from the holy machine. Unfortunately that maintenance also has associated risks, temporarily weakening the field _right here_ where the cog boys are working. As one of two available living gellar generators on the ship… I'm spending my duty shift here today, with a couple platoons of guards just in case, including half of my personal squad.

One of the ship's ministers blessed our weapons before we started, and again every half-hour or so. I think she might be hiding her own nerves behind the action, bolstering the troops morale in the process as well. I'd honestly prefer Elodia for this, Suzette has Faith, but her blessings on the guns don't shine as brightly since she lacks the direct connection. Better than no blessing though. We have a priestess, we have a Winterscale commissar, we have a duty… And so far we have stressed boredom. The statue is halfway re-gilded, and nothing's poked its nose in yet. I'm praying it stays that way.

* * *

After a long and very tense shift guarding enginseers from _thankfully_ not much, it's almost a relief to get a request from Eta. "What's this about?" I ask on entering the room. Gabrielle is sitting on the examination table, looking rather shorter, flatter, and _very_ put-out. Her face is already getting rounder, and her hips a tiny bit narrower. She's gone from a statuesque stunner to a cute neighbor girl, now only… "Huh, you almost look my age."

She drops her already reddened face into her hands and doesn't otherwise respond. I know she's headed for a few more years lost, and another half-dozen centimeters of height. "This appears to be the same ##phenomenon subject Casuat experienced." Eta declares. "Subject Chandier is also experiencing the effect, however she is significantly more receptive to the changes."

"I can imagine. Her hair's probably not grey anymore is it?"

"##Not at the roots." There's a burst of static. "The changes produced by the collars are proving to be moderately unpredictable, but ##almost universally beneficial."

"Actually, I had a thought about that. Do you have an MIU cable handy? I can show you the experience I get from the… 'origin collar' I guess works as a name. I don't quite have the words for it, but if I can just show you..."

"Yes." She answers. "We should ##proceed to my office."

…

It's another in a series of all-or-nothing moments. Eta is a critical cornerstone of my near-term plots, and I _need_ her to be locked down on the orders front, read in on the capabilities, and capable of more complete experimentation and evaluation.

"This is an## unusual display of trust." Eta comments as she sits down at my side, the cable already connected to the base of her skull. "You lack the same ##training against hostile code ##Mechanicus members receive.

"If you declared these collars heretical, I'd be a dead man. What more trust could I show you?" Accepting the free end of the cable, I reach up to plug it into the same port I use for connecting to the Navigator's Throne. The polished metal slides against the connector set into my skin, clacking against the surface in a way that always echoes in my skull. As it slides home the room around us physically is joined by a rather blocky room of polygons. 

Looking around the new location I find Eta waiting there already looking like her destination form. Silvery skin covering much of her body, with armor-composite myomers and silver veins still exposed here and there. "Huh, you're looking good."

"This is a projected end-result, I extracted the model from the current contents of my autosanguine baseline design file." She smiles. "Your mind is closed to me, much as Epsilon found mine. This lends credence to the hypothesis that the collars apply their own firewalls. The protection appears to be outside of any that we might have innately." Her smile grows wider. "It took significant work to establish outgoing connections, but their strength is reassuring, even if I have no intention of testing them against scrapcode"

"Yeah, I guess that makes sense. Thalia found similar protections telepathically." Bobbing my head side to side noncommittally, I posit "Given what we know about what they were _for_ , protecting the secrets of their owner would be logical." Chuckling, I look her in they eyes. "I do like that idea. You're going to keep my secrets too of course." She nods, not seeming to find anything odd about the command, particularly not when in a mind-to-mind connection.

Turning away from her, I continue with "So, there _are_ a lot more controls available to me, but I don't fully understand them all. They changed when your collar was latched, possibly because you're a techpriestess. That's just speculation though." Gesturing her closer, I try to pull up the display, leaving it blurry at first. "They _somewhat_ respond to my desires, but some things I can't seem to figure out. Like leaving anyone male. I tried with Bendegar, but what I got was, well…" I shrug, letting the display resolve a little more. "And with Gabrielle, I picked her because she's more of a frightened child than my wife or I, and now she's _becoming_ one."

"That is concerning."

" _I know._ I've mostly managed to avoid making ongoing changes without intending to, but if I _don't_ exercise my will, then everyone ends up looking like _this_." Pulling up Thalia's sliders, I show the projection of what she'd look like with J cups and equally absurd hips, then push the sliders back down where they belong for her frame. "As far as I can tell, the hundred-percent markers are the maxima for unmutated humans. The super-soldier effects are from me deliberately pushing those sliders up, but I don't _know_ what they all mean or do." Turning to Eta, I pull her mental projection into a tight hug. "I need your help. I need someone who understands the Human Machine, who can help me make sure that the collars we send out into the galaxy make the _best_ humans they can."

Eta returns the hug hesitantly, seemingly still overwhelmed by the revelation, so I continue speaking. "You're going to keep this secret, because as much as we're protected by the collars, other tech-priests _aren't_. If someone else knows the _full_ truth? Without being protected by a collar? Then the Eldar will learn of it, Chaos will learn of it, and we won't have the opportunity to deploy this weapon against them."

Her eyes search mine for a while, her avatar rendering the minute variations in pupil dilation and the overlapping tiny slats that form the apertures. "You are far too young for this burden." Eta finally says. "But as the Omnissiah has seen fit to bestow it on you, I will help you carry it." Pulling back from the hug she looks me in the eyes again. "At least this burden helps you find helpers you can trust."

"Yeah, I suppose it does at that." Smiling at her, I raise a hand with one finger extended. "One more thing, I seem to be able to give unbreakable orders to collar wearers, at least in person, proxy doesn't work quite so well. So I order you to never give in to the temptations of Chaos, never give them any aid, never fall from grace."

"...I am both insulted and reassured that _this_ is the order you find most important."

I shrug. "Yeah, well, we Navigators can usually _see_ their temptors for what and where they are. But not everyone is so blessed by His hand on their genetics. We're an incomplete work, but…" I smirk "I'd say we're better in a few... _small_ but important ways than the Astartes. You'll note that traitor ships are usually navigated by sorcerers and daemons."

"Pirate ships still use Navigators."

"I didn't say we were _perfect_." Pulling her into my arms again, I lean in close to her silver lips. "At least not yet. Maybe with these collars and your help?" She smiles and tilts her head as I continue leaning closer. She may not have kissable lips in the physical world just yet, but her infosphere avatar certainly does. They're quite different from normal human lips, shiny-smooth and nonporous, but still warm and supple. She moans against my digital lips as I hold her avatar tight, the large breasts she's bound for squashing nicely against my chest. When I let go she stares for a minute, lips slightly parted, then smiles brilliantly.

Pulling her into a side-hug, I turn back toward my interface to the collars. "Now, let's figure this thing out." The happy sounding squeal is so unbecoming of a techpriestess that I pretend it didn't happen…

Okay, that's a lie. "Well you sound happy." Huh, that silvery skin _can_ blush. Interesting.

…

…

"Query."

"Yes?"

"Given the control you seem to have, why have you not set Gabrielle back to a proper age?"

"Because I still find it ironically appropriate as a punishment for her. As mentioned, I collared her because she's a frightened child. Now she'll look the part."

"I see."

…

…

...

As the connection closes, a wave of exhaustion sweeps over me. The brain actually consumes a remarkable amount of calories when working hard, and Eta and I were operating at higher than normal speeds for quite a while in there. "I'm hungry."

"Here." The Mechanicus produced nutrient bar she hands me is… hardly appetizing. Simultaneously dry, chewy, and crumbly, it at least has the saving grace of being gone _quickly_ and doing the job of 'being nutritious' very well. As I'm eating it, she nearly makes me spit it out with an innocently phrased question. "Once my changes are finished, should I expect a meeting at three quarters second shift?"

"Ahem! Hem hem!" Clearing my throat a bit, I turn to look at her current lack of expression. It's rather jarring after several subjective hours spent with what she _will_ look like. "Yes, yes you will."

 **Segmentum Obscurus**  
**Koronus Sector**  
**Koronus Passage**  
**The Warp**  
**Heavy Transport - Writ of Surplus**  
**9.318.736M41**  
**Est. arrival at The Battleground 9.346.736M41**

On the way to the bridge, Lucy makes a small production of gulping several mouthfulls of water from her canteen, giving me a sidelong glare as she does. I just smirk of course, weathering her heated look with the skill earned by weathering the same sort of looks from Marcella. My wife, of course, notices the look as well. At least judging by her small smile and blush. I'm not sure what I did to deserve a wife who's _turned on_ by the thought of having other women thirsting after me, but I'm quite grateful for it. "Feeling thirsty armswoman?"

"Yes sir." It's nearly a growl, and a very different form of 'yes sir' as a polite way of phrasing 'fuck you sir'.

"Ah, well, best not to get dehydrated." And with that we're close enough to the bridge to cut off that conversation. Leaving Lucy and Edith behind in the bridge antechamber, we carry on and up into the spire. Once we're mostly alone 'Cella starts giggling, and I chuckle along with her.

"You're terrible" She gets out between the giggles.

"What did that boy do this time?" Graig asks from his position on the throne.

"Oh, just a bit of innuendo Uncle." I answer cheekily.

"Hmph…" The storm outside is definitely angry, the presence of fresh battle damage riles certain segments of the _things_ out there, but the gellar field is back to nearly full strength at this point. He keeps an eye on it as he speaks anyway, and Marcella and I turn to do likewise in different directions. "As I can't see her blushing in the reflection from the windows, you must have been sparring with one of your little security harem instead of Marcella."

"Uncle!" 'Cella protests. "Silvea is a bad influence on you!"

"She has been for seventy years. I merely leave the teasing to her most of the time." He laughs, a deep bellowing sound. "But when you wake me up, retaliation must be served… cold."

"Sorry uncle." I apologize, though I don't really feel that sorry for it.

"Silvea and I did the same to your grandparents." He sighs wistfully. "I do wish you could have met them as more than psychic imprints. Now, you see that whorl over there? What odds would you give of there being something physical in there?" Directing my Eye to the tornado within the hurricane, I try to peel back the futures of any attempt to pass through it. Actually _doing_ so would be a terrible idea as it's not in our way, but it's good practice.

After a minute I close all three eyes and let out a heavy breath. "Ninety...three percent."

"Ninety five." is Marcella's answer.

"Care to explain your answers?"

After a bit of comparing back and forth, I'd accounted for an ejection spout she hadn't spotted. Better to err on the side of caution if you must, but better still to avoid error.

* * *

"How are you faring?" 'Cella asks a rather younger looking Elodia. She's looking to be one of the faster changes overall, after Ligia and Jezmine who barely had any changes to make. She's not experiencing major structural changes like a gender swap, nor enough age reduction to substantially alter her bones. Instead she's just… re-distributing a bit. Her middle narrowing while the weight there moves mostly to her chest, just a bit shifting to her butt.

" _Wonderfully_." She answers with feeling, standing up and hugging both of us tight. "Here." Letting go she takes a step back and makes the sign of the Aquila. As she does the acoustic feel of the small examination room seems to recede into the distance, the soft beeps of the equipment echoing in a suddenly cavernous space. Then Elodia starts to _sing_ in harmony with herself, the echoes melding back in with her voice to produce an entire chorus all at once. The Omnissian cogs on some of the equipment start glowing brilliantly and somehow the song stirs the heart to battle. I can _feel_ my hand moving more surely, finding it on the butt of my pistol the grip feels better in the hand, settles into my palm and seems to _sing_ along with the chorus for the death of the Xeno and the Traitor and the Heretic.

Then the light fades and Elodia is simply standing there with a brilliant smile. "I never managed that before. I've fit more practice in the past four days than the past two years prior."

"And you're not iced over." I wisecrack, and she starts laughing.

"The way Thalia describes your solution, I almost wish I were." Her smile is infectious. "But the echoes _do_ better match His Glory."

"That they certainly do." I have to agree. "But just because you don't _need_ Thalia's solution doesn't mean you can't have it." I give her a wink. "When you're out of Eta's clutches."

"HmMmMmm." She exchanges a look with Marcella, then leans in to whisper something in her ear. 'Cella nods, blushing deeply, and Elodia kisses her cheek. "Thank you milady."

With Elodia clearly in high spirits and voluntarily making good use of her time spent under observation, I find myself anticipating a bit of whiplash when we go visit the other new collar. And indeed when I lead the way into Gabrielle's infirmary room, I find her sitting on the bed, knees pulled up to her shoulders and arms wrapped around her legs, head bowed and shaking every so often. The lines strung from the sensors across her body are a little tangled on their way to the ceiling, and she's barely dressed. Admittedly she wouldn't have any fitting clothes of her own at this point, but she hasn't even bothered with the medical gown.

Sigh… "Look at me." She looks every inch the sullen child as she raises her head, and I sigh again. "With Eta's help I've established that the changes the collars make are shaped by my opinions." Pointedly looking at her new body for a bit while letting the words hang in the air, I add "You got in because I didn't want a frightened child psyker on the ship… Fitting isn't it?"

"Not really… milord."

"Oh, I think it is. Hopefully it doesn't go _too_ far though or I'm going to have a hard time collecting on your payment." She looks down at herself, then back up at me incredulously. "What? You were fine with a man half your age, but not one five quarters?"

Her head slumps down again, resting the bridge of her nose against the edge of a hand propped across her knees. "You're not going to take it away for non-payment?" There's a bit of hope there.

"If you hadn't noticed, the catch _disappeared_ after I closed it. How, precisely, would I take it away? Besides, you're _still_ going to pay. Everything you are, that was the offer right? Mind, body… _potential_. You didn't, _don't_ , deserve it, but you _will_ change that. You know what Elodia is doing while waiting for Eta to release her? She's _practicing_. Why aren't you? You can push safely now, all day long. If you don't have messages to send, I want you to spend your duty shifts practicing instead. I don't particularly care which discipline, just as long as you're improving."

Gabrielle nods, taking a deep breath and letting it out along with an apparent shuttle-load of stress. Taking a couple steps closer, I lean in to whisper in her ear. "You are _mine_. You will keep my secrets, you will reject chaos in all its forms, you will obey my wife as you do me, and you will never tell _anyone_ that I can give you unbreakable orders."

When I pull back she turns to stare at me, plain glass eyes wide open. I suppose her custom speech-tracking set is too large now, even if only a tiny bit. I smile back while she reels her jaw back in, then I lean in to whisper some more. "Also, until you grow skilled enough to _actually_ qualify for that collar, you will not climax, but you will pleasure yourself until you almost reach it at least once per day."

"Awwww…"

"I suggest you get to work."

The room plummets into pitch-blackness, and I blink a few times before opening my warp eye and navigating to the door that way. Once I'm out of the little patch of night I hug Marcella and start heading to the door. "I hope you're right 'Cella, and I'm glad I have you to soften my heart when I need it." She just leans into my side, hugging tighter. Then I decide to tease a little. "And to harden other things."

 **Segmentum Obscurus**  
**Koronus Sector**  
**Koronus Passage**  
**The Warp**  
**Heavy Transport - Writ of Surplus**  
**9.318.736M41**  
**Est. arrival at The Battleground 9.346.736M41**

*Beee-eeepBeee-eeepBeee-eeep* Laughing as I open the door, I find Lucy waiting outside as expected, looking exceedingly excited and flushed enough that I can see it even on her complexion. "Did you need something Armswoman Katiio?" I ask teasingly, stepping back out of the doorway and gesturing her inside as she opens her mouth for a retort.

As the door closes behind her she informs me "I had t' use th' laundry three times this week 'cause of you."

"Whyever would you need that?" I ask with a grin, pulling her close and leaning down for a kiss. She's just as aggressive about it as I've found her before, biting my lips just as much as I bite hers, her tongue coming out to play and trying to force its way into my mouth even as I try to invade hers. She tastes like Kaf at the moment, though she didn't last time, probably drank some before coming. "Hmm, enjoying some of the perks I see." I comment, pulling back a moment. "Or rather, I _taste_. Is that the Cyprian blend?"

"It's _good_. But d'you know what'd be better Sir?"

"What?"

"Your cock Sir." She grinds against me and shudders.

"Oh? You think so?" Grabbing handfuls of her muscular butt, I squeeze down a bit and pick her up. There's very little give there, not because she has a particularly small butt, but because it's all glutes instead of fat. What little she has is distributed quite nicely, but it's not exactly abundant. My fingers barely sink in at all as I lift her up, and she wraps her arms and legs around me, now looking down slightly with a positively _hungry_ expression. Turning around, I lean my head to the side to meet 'Cella's eyes, my wife having come to the door with me this time. Giving her a wink, I deliberately lean forward to dip Lucy into range for her to be looking up at Marcella.

"Ma'am?" Watching my wife kiss our _exceptionally_ aroused guard only fails to make me harder because I'm already straining against my pants. Giving them a moment first, I hoist Lucy up again and keep going until she's laying over my shoulder and laughing as I carry my 'prize' to bed.

The brief interruption to undress takes a different turn when I spy the glistening strands of grool connecting her uniform trousers to her panties, the sight and smell exclaiming to the room just _how_ ready she is. "Oh wow." I remark, reaching out to trail one finger up her slick thigh, starting near her knee and gliding up to the crevice between her inner thigh and outer lip. Her lips actually shiver separately from the rest of her at the touch, and so I try it again on the other side, just watching her pussy tremble of its own accord while she moans wordlessly.

Glancing over at Marcella, I find her watching the tableaux with equal fascination, turning to meet my eyes when I stop for a moment. Smiling, I bring my slick fingers to her lips and let out a groan of my own when she eagerly licks them clean, her clear green eyes staring intently into mine while her soft pink tongue laps up Lucy's juices. "No wonder she's been so thirsty."

"Are y' just gonna tease me 'r what?"

"Hardly 'just' Lucy." Standing up straight again, I pull her away from the wall she was leaning against, and on over to the bed where I sit down and pull her into my lap. I'm not lined up at first, instead simply riding between her buttcheeks. She instinctively spreads her legs to straddle my knees though, toes reaching for the floor and scrubbing across the carpet. The height is almost perfect for Marcella to kiss her while she's sitting on my lap, and so she steps in while I spread my own knees, forcing Lucy's legs wider. Not that she's complaining about that part. Our caramel guard is sandwiched between us, sitting astride my legs while I hold her from behind, and mutually embracing Marcella in front. My wife starts to kiss her, but I shake my head "Just a sec."

Lifting her up, I flex my pelvic muscles to get my cock lined up, then start lowering her down. She's taken my length before, but it's been a week and her pussy doesn't remember how to relax that far. The sound she makes is distinctly a groan, for all that it's high-pitched, strained but still needy. Marcella goes for that kiss again now that Lucy's lined up and sinking down, just in time for me to be in her _enough_ to count for the order I gave her a week ago.

She clenches down hard enough to halt my movement for the moment, her thighs pulling _hard_ and forcing my knees together until Marcella is trapped. The breath is squeezed from my petite wife as well as Lucy hugs her ribcage tight, forcing a wheeze to join her own sounds of pleasure. Her muscles lock up like that for only a couple seconds, and then she's frantically forcing herself farther down as as hard as she can, heedless of the need to stretch, squealing against Marcella's lips while she hooks her ankles below my thighs to pull harder, picking 'Cella up off the floor trying to pull herself down. The extra weight, slight as 'Cella is, is enough to do the job. As her butt makes contact again she screams against Marcella's lips again, arching her back and lifting her higher while clamping down around me again.

When it passes she lets Marcella slip down to the floor again, flopping backwards against me and breathing hard with her eyes staring unseeingly at the ceiling while aftershocks run through her. "Remember being jealous of Thalia climaxing over and over again?" I ask quietly, waiting for her to process enough to turn her attention to me. "Tonight you will have a small climax every time I bottom out in you." Her already wide eyes widen, and her slack jaw manages a smile, and then I'm picking her up with my arms around her toned waist, before dropping her back down.

"Oh!" She trembles a little as the order takes effect, and I smile as I do it again, and again, setting her on track for a small orgasm every few seconds, her pussy eagerly grasping my length with every stroke, instinctively trying to keep me held within but far too slick for that. It's an amazing experience to fuck a woman who's _this_ orgasmic, and as I meet Marcella's eyes over Lucy's shoulders, I smile and give her the same order. She smiles back, then leans down to play with Lucy's nipples instead of kissing her uncooperative lips.

The amazing orgasmic massage Lucy is providing doesn't take that long to bring me to the edge myself, and I hold her down tight as I erupt, flooding her depths while my toes curl in the luxurious carpet below us. When it's over I lay back on the bed, bringing Lucy with me and pulling out so 'Cella can reach either or both of us as she likes. Her tongue finds my shaft first, eagerly licking Lucy's thick grool and my thicker cum off of me, soft tongue making _certain_ I don't go soft before her turn. Then she moves on to start licking my seed out of Lucy, to the woman's… dismayed enjoyment? She's not terribly coherent about it, babbling for her to stop, but then begging her to continue when she does, crying out about the sensitivity and writhing around atop me, still held in my arms.

Marcella's laughter at the reaction is infectious, and soon I'm laughing as well, with poor Lucy joining the hilarity shortly after, and becoming even less coherent.

…

…

As she's getting dressed again, moving rather gingerly still, I ask Lucy "So, what did you think of that experiment?"

"It was mean 'nd amazing Sir."

"And if I made it a standing order?"

"...Same?" She sounds eagerly frightened.

"Well in that case, I give you a standing order not to climax unless I have my cock in you." She smiles and moans, flinching a bit as she clenches her sore pussy. "If it ever _stops_ being amazing, tell me."

"Yes Sir."

* * *

**Segmentum Obscurus**  
**Koronus Sector**  
**Koronus Passage**  
**The Warp**  
**Heavy Transport - Writ of Surplus**  
**9.320.736M41**  
**Est. arrival at The Battleground 9.346.736M41**

"Hmm…" Idly rubbing my hand over my wife's beautiful body in the early morning nearly-awake laziness, I make a _wonderful_ discovery. "Wake up."

"Hmm?" She answers sleepily.

"How long have you had a bump?" _Now_ she's awake. Fully awake as opposed to technically awake. Her small hands trying to push mine aside to feel for herself. I teasingly hold fast for a handful of seconds, enjoying both the as-yet-subtle change to her body and her increasing indignation.

"Trist!" When she actually speaks up I remove my hand. Well, slide it _up_ anyway, heading for a different bump that's fun for different reasons. I'm not really trying to arouse her at the moment, just some gentle pleasure to highlight her currently overwhelming joy.

"In a few more months we should get a portrait done, capture the image of your tiny waist ballooned out to hold our baby. Or maybe a portrait every month? I wonder if there's a good artist aboard."

 **Segmentum Obscurus**  
**Koronus Sector**  
**Koronus Passage**  
**The Warp**  
**Heavy Transport - Writ of Surplus**  
**9.321.736M41**  
**Est. arrival at The Battleground 9.346.736M41**

If I couldn't see her feet, I'd accuse Marcella of not touching the floor since we woke up. My teasing on the way to the spire, the ever-demanding lessons in the reading of the warp, Silvea's excited teasing, Graig's ribbing as we were leaving the spire… None of it caused her mood to dip even the slightest. I keep catching her with one hand over her little bump, still barely perceptible, but undeniable. Her smile could recharge las-packs.

To be fair, I haven't been focusing terribly well either, my arm keeps unconsciously wrapping around her to press against her belly. Every time I end up with a silly grin, and only realize I'm doing it when she places her hand over mine. I'm not sure how much I missed of Silvea's lessons, but I'm pretty sure she expected that. I'm also sure I'll pay for it later, but I don't care.

We took the time to add the location to our chart, another bright spark of radiant joy to contrast the endless stress and tribulation represented by the rest of the vellum. A shared memory, a shared moment, preserved in time. No pict-capture could contain the event nearly so well.

* * *

Here and now we're in Eta's domain again, a couple mechadendrites pressing ultrasound wands against 'Cella's shallow bump. Even in the far future it's still the sensor of choice for this I guess, the scan gentle enough to perform without any risk. There's not much to see yet honestly, whatever Eta's seeing among the translucent outlines of Marcella's innards is lost on us. The holo-tank can't exactly give us Eta's decades of training after all. "Your health is every bit as perfect as my last examination." She proclaims after a few minutes of looking. "Given the collar I find this unsurprising, but thorough records of the progression will be valuable data regarding their capability."

Placing the sensors back on their storage rack and starting the sterilization cycle, Eta pulls out a blood draw needle and vial, to Marcella's moderate dismay. Eta's return smile is actually visible… partially, the implant covering the lower half of her face now withdrawn to cover her nose and lips, wrapping around under her chin and down her neck. It leaves the synth-muscles in her cheeks free to apply tension, so her cheeks lift and her eyes squint a little. The cluster of optics across her eye-sockets has also withdrawn, pulling back inside her sockets where they've resolved into a cluster of lenses all set behind a sapphire bulwark that provides protection and allows her new eyelids to close smoothly. They look like compound eyes now, just with the different lenses at different sizes.

"Enjoying a blood draw would be a warning sign." she says calmly, placing the needle against 'Cella's forearm. The actual puncture is quite sudden, but the motion is equally small. A single sharp jab that strikes the vein on the first try. She used to use the precision mechadendrites on her left hand for this, but apparently the new hands not only look nicer, but have sufficient dexterity for her not to need them now. Or maybe it's because the side of her bicep isn't a convenient location for them regardless of length.

After she withdraws the needle, I reach up to stroke her cheek, enjoying the sensual reaction from the woman who's gone… I have no idea how many years, inside a plasteel and ceramite shell of her own choosing. Even a couple weeks after the new silver skin started appearing, she's still reacting to it almost as strongly. She leans into my touch with eyes closed for a few seconds, then pulls away with a short blat of binary and nearly scurrys off to go put the sample in the analyzer.

Once the analysis has begun, she returns to Marcella and I, standing rather close. Before she starts to speak I lean in to kiss her cheek and enjoy her even stronger reaction. 'Cella hooks her heel on one of the drawer handles sticking out the side of the exam table and stands on it to plant a kiss on Eta's other cheek.

It… takes her a bit to return to topic after that, and I'm sure my wife derives nearly as much enjoyment from doing that to her as I did... or possibly more I suppose.

* * *

"Pause for a minute please." I ask the pitch dark on the other side of the door, then wait a bit for the blackness to recede back under Gabrielle's skin. She's dressed this time, just the thin infirmary gown, and her hair is brushed and pulled back into a ponytail. Her roots are no longer showing, and I suppose peroxide probably isn't in short supply around the infirmary.

As the receding darkness reveals her new form, I find her staring at me with those plain glass orbs, squirming in her seat while a small kettle bell sinks down into her hands. I follow it with my eyes as she catches it and sets it aside, apparently waiting for me to say something. Stepping inside and holding the door for Cella, I nod to the weight. "Telekinesis huh?"

"You said anything, and I can practice with just a weight." She says defensively.

"It's a fine choice. I meant what I said about picking whatever you wanted as long as you improve." She nods and relaxes a hair, but her squirming increases, her thighs now rubbing together while her expression tells me she's visually undressing me even without eyes. It's kind of an odd mix of emotions on her face. She's _safe_ , she did get what she needed, but everything after has been a roller coaster for her. She opens her mouth as though to say something, then closes it, then opens it again.

"Say it." Marcella finally instructs, and Gabrielle's expression twists a bit.

"I _really_ need to cum milord, milady. I soak a gown in minutes, Eta put a _plastic sheet_ on my bed, I can't handle it."

"Speaking honestly, is it interfering with your practice?"

"...Nooo…" She tries to resist answering for a moment before giving in.

"Is it motivating you to improve faster?" She just shrugs. "Why not?"

"I'm _never_ going to deserve this-" she taps the collar. "-so it doesn't matter how fast I improve."

"Well _that's_ not my intended result."

"I think you need more carrot husband." Marcella assesses. "Every time she reaches, hmm, perfection's not possible…" She trails off, thinking.

Picking up the direction she's headed, I carry on. "When she gets good enough with a technique to be _practical_ , and again when she masters it… in her own _honest_ assessment."

"She can earn permission." 'Cella finishes. "With us."

"Yeah, that should work better." I agree. "Whenever you reach competency or mastery with a new technique, you can come to us for a climax and we'll grant it. The how may vary, but if you work hard..." I wiggle my eyebrows at her and watch the hint of a smile appear. "Think that will motivate you?"

"Yes milord." Grabbing the kettle bell, she holds it before herself again and looks at us questioningly.

"Want to get back to practice hmm?" She nods silently, that faint smile settling a bit more firmly.

The room is pitch black again the moment we're far enough away, a shaft of dark falling out the door and across part of the infirmary, narrowing and then cutting off as the door closes.

 **Segmentum Obscurus**  
**Koronus Sector**  
**Koronus Passage**  
**The Warp**  
**Heavy Transport - Writ of Surplus**  
**9.328.736M41**  
**Est. arrival at The Battleground 9.346.736M41**

It's only a couple days later when Eta releases the newest collared, something she didn't see fit to warn us of beforehand, so it's a pleasant surprise when I arrive at our usual shooting range with Marcella and find Elodia there with the off-duty portion of Ligia's squad, apparently training with them in the application of her choral weapon blessing technique. It's pretty obvious she's there even before we reach the voluminous chamber, the vast echoing sound of her particular psychic quirk applying even in the hallway outside and carrying her voice out to us as we approach.

She really does have a beautiful voice, and though her song is wordless, the way it twines through itself with the echoes and the phantom duplicates create a one-woman battle-choir. The pace seems to drag my heartbeat along with it, rising and pounding in my chest even without the actual psychic component, just the song. Rounding the corner and entering the room, I find her standing with arms raised as though in benediction, which I guess she _is_ giving. Edith, Lucy, and Jezmine are already here, the iconography on their weapons glowing like the day, shining brightly in a manner that might be problematic in battle, but they're also drilling shot after shot into the bullseyes of their targets out at the limit of the onboard range. It's hardly perfect, but while their marksmanship was already good, and got better with the improved dexterity and muscle control of the collars, now it's quite literally divine.

The armswomen benefiting from the blessing are whooping and cheering about it, joining in with the song here and there, something about the music setting the next notes in your heart, ready to pull out if you wish. Marcella joins in quickly, and I join not long after, the fact that I'm not a great singer seeming not to matter. Heading over I clap Elodia on the shoulder and nod when she looks at me, then head over to the next pair of booths with Marcella for our practice.

However Elodia's blessing works, it unfortunately doesn't seem to coordinate well with our own techniques, Seek the Path rendering whatever aid she's offering invisible to us. It's disappointing, but not terribly surprising, Seek the Path doesn't tend to get along with most scopes either, requiring special psychoactive lenses that render the scope hazardous for use by a non-navigator. I'm sure there's _some_ way for her blessing to aid my aim, but she's only been able to practice without limit for a week so even just what she _can_ do for my guards is wonderful.

As I'm working my way through the usual stack of target plates, again set a little farther back than yesterday, the sudden roar of a stubber sounds out and breaks my concentration a bit. Looking over I find Lucy's brought 'Marge' out to try out Elodia's blessing, and is giving a good impression of a lead-laser even firing from the hip. As I watch she puts a score of slugs through a silhouette at fifty meters in under a second, then sends another target out to a hundred as the closer target didn't result in a single missed round. "That is absurd." I remark, holstering my weapon for the moment and heading over. A sharp whistle gets everyone's attention, weapons getting cleared and set on the counters before they turn around.

"I want everyone to keep in mind that as wonderful as this blessing is, you're also glowing with His Light while receiving it. That makes you a big target. Don't get cocky and get yourselves shot unnecessarily when you eventually end up in a real fight with it."

"There is another blessing to cover that milord." Elodia speaks up. "I have so far been unable to call upon it, but even _this_ is more progress than I made in the prior year."

"Oh, it's a wonderful achievement, and a true demonstration of your faith. You deserve to be proud, just don't get yourself killed."

She smiles at the compliment. "Thank you milord… I am, as you said, out of Eta's clutches." The second sentence sounds rather hopeful, but I remember making that promise, and so I just nod with a smile in return. "After we finish practice." Returning to my lane, I try to focus through the loud noises of their augmented practice, the sounds actually beneficial for my purposes as they make it more difficult, just as they would in any real situation. Marge's roar makes me flinch when it happens, even with the short-term precognition of my technique going on, I can _see_ I'm about to flinch, and then I flinch anyway. Not much, but enough to throw off my aim at fifty meters.

As I wrap up, I make a note to ensure Lucy has enough ammo to bring that beast to practice more often. Stubber ammo is fucking _cheap_ , and she's a noble's bodyguard now, not a common grunt. Practice rounds shouldn't be something she has to ration.

Moving over one booth, I find 'Cella already blushing, biting one corner of her lip in anticipation of the teasing I'm about to inflict on her while also _actually_ helping her. Pressing in close against her back, I let her feel my erection pressing into her lower back while my arms rest alongside hers, making subtle- well, she actually _doesn't_ need any correction at the moment, so I just leave my arms alongside hers, her elbows pressing into the crooks of mine, and her small hands enveloped in my gentle grip. "...Well?"

"Well what?"

"Aren't you going to adjust my grip?"

"Why? You have it exactly right already… and then you giggled." Nudging her stance back where it's supposed to be, I lightly brush my lips along the top of her ear and encourage "Ok, now shatter that target." The brush of my lips along her ear is still subject to that order from weeks ago, and she shivers slightly while trying to line up the shot. There's the flicker of light, the snap of superheated air, and the plate down the lane from us cracks down one side. "Oh, very well done." I give her ear another kiss, cranking her motor higher. The second shot misses the fate-fractures, but still hits the target, and the third cleaves off another chunk. More praise, another kiss, and her composure becomes still more strained. I'd love to have her able to add difficulty to _my_ training like this, but the firing range is a little too public for her to kneel under the counter while I'm practicing. Oh well.

 **Segmentum Obscurus**  
**Koronus Sector**  
**Koronus Passage**  
**The Warp**  
**Heavy Transport - Writ of Surplus**  
**9.328.736M41**  
**Est. arrival at The Battleground 9.346.736M41**

Elodia is a little later than expected when she arrives, her round face deeply flushed with nervous arousal. Marcella was the one to answer the door this time, and she gracefully sweeps out of the way when our latest guest bursts through with a look over her shoulder. "There's no need to be embarrassed." I point out. "The rumors are officially just that, but you know the truth of them. Keep our secrets secret, and let them think what they will. The collars creating attraction is going to be in Eta's report, too difficult to hide, so it doesn't matter." The reassurance doesn't seem to help much, her blush still quite deep.

Pulling her into a kiss, I discover that she seems to have brushed her teeth before coming, the artificially vaguely-minty flavor quite distinct. I probably wouldn't mind her taste without, I haven't yet with any of the others, but I appreciate the thought. Her full figure makes for some eminently grabbable tits, and she gives an appreciative hum when I take advantage. There's no bra to get in the way, which might explain part of her embarrassment, so I lightly pinch her nipples and start walking backward, gently pulling her in the direction of bed. She gasps at this treatment, somehow finding another shade of red for her cheeks and neck.

Instead of stopping in our bedroom as usual, I continue on through into the bathing room, making good on the promise that she can have 'Thalia's solution' even if she doesn't need it. Once we're here it doesn't take long to undress, her lack of more than a single layer as convenient as it is scandalous, breasts the size of hers would certainly bounce around quite a bit were she to run without support. But as a statement of intent to her master? It's certainly very clear.

The water is as warm as always, the filtering and conditioning systems keeping it in the same condition at all times. It's with a contented sigh that Elodia climbs in with us, not bothering with one of the benches and simply floating in the warm water. "I used to feel cold easily." She says. "Not since the collar, but warm water is still wonderful." As she drifts past I shove on one of her feet to spin her around, feet toward the intake grill of the filters. They won't actually eat hair, or 'Cella's would be an unacceptable hazard, but the fact that they'll shut down instead is kind of a hassle.

She reacts to the shove by twisting around to put her knees down though, looking at me expectantly. She's still shoulder deep and her tits are visibly buoyant, which is an excellent view, but not actually what I intended. If she's interested in getting things properly started though I'm certainly not going to object. Beckoning her with a crooked finger, I pull her in between my wife and I, pushing her through the coppery cloud to end up where I want her. "Before we start I want you to take a minute and just relax, completely." The command washes over her and her head lolls back, her body going limp. With my arms there to support her though that's fine. "Most of the collared have already had this little conversation, but now it's your turn…"

I'm not sure how she'd have taken it without the order to relax, but with it she's quite accepting. Even after that minute, when she can move again, she has no objections to what she's learned. Then again, she's been given yet another layer of protection from chaos, the collar now protecting her twice over. "He chose well, guiding that artifact to your throat." She finally decides, still basking in the residual relaxation. "Many men would use it to do great harm."

"And many wouldn't, but I do seem to be in a good position to make use of it." Pulling her into my lap, I grope her from behind, fingers sinking into the wonderful perky softness of her chest, while my cock finds itself sliding between full cheeks. "In matters closer to home, I wonder…" Looking over at Marcella, I let go of Elodia's left breast and reach up to grab my pendant, scrolling through the list of controls until I find one I remember seeing before but not bothering with at the time. There's a subsection under the size and shape sliders for breasts to control milk production. Rate, capacity, flow, a couple nutritional settings that I very pointedly leave _alone_ because those are definitely Eta's job. "With Eta's help I've learned more about controlling the collars, how would you feel about putting these-" I squeeze firmly, though not enough to hurt. "-to work in a few more months? 'Cella is probably going to want a wetnurse."

"Oh may I!?" She asks excitedly, clearly directing the question to Marcella.

"Her faith is unquestionable, and her loyalty is unbreakable." I point out, pushing the sliders up regardless. Sure I'm just having fun for now, but I can always set them back down later. I wonder what maximum human milk production is, but for now I'll just put it at half.

"...Sometimes." She allows. "You already changed her didn't you?"

"Obviously-" I'm interrupted as Elodia leans her head back next to mine and moans out "Oh yes milord. As much as you want."

"-Oh? Do you like the idea of having milk?" She nods. "It'll take a while to start, but-" Returning my hand to her lonely breast, I resume stroking and gently squeezing. "-You're already just made for it aren't you?"

She nods again, and with a sigh points out "But psykers aren't allowed to have children."

"I know, but I'm sure these will work just fine all the same." I give her another squeeze, unashamedly having fun while smiling over her shoulder at my wife. Hefting Elodia's breasts out of the water, I offer them to 'Cella, and watch avidly as she glides around to suck one fat nipple into her mouth. It's a beautiful sight "Without the collar we'd never risk a psyker anywhere near our baby, but you're completely safe. Your echoes won't be any problem, and even the bright glow of your faith is comforting to our kind, we're _made_ to seek His Light."

"Yes." She arches her back, pressing her tits more into Marcella's face and lifting herself up off my lap a bit. Letting go with one hand I reach down and get lined up so when she lowers herself back down I'm there waiting. She's the least tight among my growing harem, but that hardly makes her loose, particularly not with how thick I made myself. It's a bit less intense, but still wonderful. More lending her to the long gentle screw over the more energetic type I usually go for. Somehow it just seems fitting for her… Maybe because she's pretty much a priestess.

The water also enforces keeping things slow, every attempt to speed up ends up washing away her lubricant, and we start to chafe, Marcella trying not to laugh whenever one of us makes that mistake. Eventually even the slow pace has its effect, and as I'm nearing my peak I instruct her "Climax whenever my seed enters your body." 'Cella's eyes light up, and I can tell I'm going to be re-wording her play orders in the near future. For now though, I turn my head to kiss Elodia's ear, biting it too as I erupt into her. I may squeeze a little too tight for a moment as the pleasure races through me, but she's in no condition to notice a little pain from her tits as her own climax has her whimpering.

Once my pleasure fades, I lift her up and lay her back in the water, bringing her pussy up where Marcella can get at the creampie I left for her. Digging in, she laps up whatever's near the entrance and shows it to me on her tongue before swallowing it down, making me throb at the sight. Again she does that, deliberately teasing me, and so I make sure Elodia's head is safely on the edge of the bath and move around behind Marcella, sinking down in the water behind her and taking her from behind, squeezing my way into her perfectly tight pussy. For all the variety I enjoy with the others, hers is the only one I've changed to be a _perfect_ fit, I for her, her for me. I promised her she'd be the only one, no matter how many we share.

Leaning down I whisper in her ear. "New play order. You will climax whenever my seed enters your body." Play orders were Ligia's idea, and she still has a sexual favor of her choice pending for that, within reason of course. Adding designations to _types_ of orders lets us do things like give orders _about_ those types. Like play orders not applying in emergencies.

Of course, adding _that_ play order while she's eating my seed out of Elodia has predictable immediate effects. She quivers around me and cries out against the pussy before her when she retracts her tongue, my seed entering her mouth.

 **Segmentum Obscurus**  
**Koronus Sector**  
**Koronus Passage**  
**The Warp**  
**Heavy Transport - Writ of Surplus**  
**9.334.736M41**  
**Est. arrival at The Battleground 9.346.736M41**

It's only a couple days before Elodia seeks us out again, this time moving a bit tenderly as we welcome her to our home. "We missed you at the range earlier." I point out. "Is something wrong?"

"My teats _ache_ milord." She rolls her shoulders back, and looking down I can tell they've expanded a bit. The fact that it's immediately _visible_ is both surprising and very hot.

"A bit early to have Eta start treatments for your wetnurse-" I groan when Silvea joins the conversation, my cheeks hot. "-Or do you plan to suckle her too?"

"Aunty…"

"Oh, don't worry yourself, I can see His Light in her better than you. I know why you chose her and I quite approve." Even without looking I can _feel_ her excessively-toothy grin. "Go on, alleviate her discomfort or send her to the medicae, one or the other."

"I'm _really_ sorry about her." I speak, bringing one hand up to pinch the bridge of my nose. "But she's right, come on." Once we're alone I simply take a seat on the chair next to my bedroom door. For all that it's there for donning and doffing shoes, it's a really nice comfortable seat. "Have a seat." I instruct, gesturing to my own lap. Elodia may be abundant, but she's not tall, so the weight sort of cancels out.

As she takes the offered spot, I inform her "'Cella is doing something with Jezmine at the moment, not sure what, but you'll have to settle for one mouth for now." Reaching up to undo her robe, I find a nursing bra underneath, the woman apparently having gotten ready once I set things in motion.

"I know it's not attractive-" "Easy access is it's own form of enticement." I reassure, undoing the left clasp and leaning down. Aside from the rather engorged state of her breast there's little sign of what's waiting within, her tendency to leak turned all the way down, but when I suck her nipple between my lips her gasp is equal parts pleasure and relief. Even before she starts to flow she's sagging against my arm, and then groaning as the first drops make their way to my mouth. "Mmmm." I give an appreciative hum at the sweet creamy taste, and the buzz of my voice seems to improve things for her.

Milk in all its many forms may have followed humanity out into the stars, but _fresh_ milk requires a living mammal, and ships aren't great places for keeping livestock. It's been months since I've had any, and Elodia's is honestly a lot better than anything Bilani's cattle put out. As I continue sucking more and more out of her aching teat, the falling pressure seems to combine with my licking and humming to bring her to a state of bliss. Out of the corner of my eye I can see her ecstatic smile, eyelids shut over the glass fakes, the tension she had in the corners of her eyes when she arrived all but gone.

Her hand comes up to set her fingernails wandering across my scalp, and I grin around her nipple. She seems like an endless well for a while, though that might have more to do with the relatively low rate of flow. That's one of the things I left alone since I don't want it to be _too_ fast for the baby. Eventually though she still runs out on the left side, and I pull away after a few last licks that make her shiver. Straightening up I pull her in for a kiss, invading her mouth and sharing the residue of her own flavor with her. "You're delicious." I say after letting go.

"Thank you milord."

"Now get up and turn around so I can get the other side."

"Yes milord!" She springs to her feet, spinning around and plopping back down in a manner that might be a little jarring without a bit of padding.

"I suspect I will be skipping lunch." Leaning down, I gently exhale across her aching nipple, watching her shudder on my lap. "'Cella can have you for dinner I suspect." With that I close the last couple centimeters and start sucking, dragging my tongue across the tip of her nipple as I do.

* * *

**Segmentum Obscurus**  
**Koronus Sector**  
**Koronus Passage: The Battleground**  
**The Warp**  
**Heavy Transport - Writ of Surplus**  
**9.343.736M41**  
**Est. arrival at The Battleground 9.346.736M41**

A favorable current has us arriving at the Battleground ahead of even our original estimate. Only by a day, but still a welcome relief. No one quite knows what _happened_ here, the thousands of ships drifting in the void so ancient they must have been lost in the Age of Strife. Everything useful has already been stripped long ago, either that or it's so heavily trapped that it's just not worth the risk.

"Is that a drive plume?" Marcella asks as the gellar field powers down, pointing off into the distance.

However I squint I can't quite make it out, our divergent skillsets giving her the advantage here. "I can't even see it."

"I can, and she's right." Graig agrees, his console chirping as he presses a button. "Captain, drive plume in the field."

"Auspex sees it too." Moments later the armor panels around the bridge and spire extend, Captain Thorne quite justifiably cautious after the last encounter. The drives thrum to life behind and below us, the faint rumbling in the deck familiar in a different way than the equally faint hum of the gellar generator. The distant light of the storms where they verge on the Materium spins around us as the ship realigns, apparently going around whoever might already be here.

Heading down into the bridge, I notice the comms officer recording a message for broadcast. "Hopefully it's just scavengers." I comment. "If so I pray for their good fortune."

"They'll need it, diving that deep in the field." The Voidmaster answers.

"Skill, providence, and luck." The holo-tank is focused on where the plume was sighted, auspex able to pick it out but not much more about the ship generating it. There's a piece of wreckage in the way, the organic lines and stark white of wraithbone intermingled with the hard lines of human design, a pair of ships locked in mutual destruction probably fifteen thousand years ago. The nose of the human ship is buried through the eldar craft, and I spare a moment of admiration for the feat of piloting represented by managing to _hit_ an eldar craft with a ramming attempt. The aft of that ship is long gone, likely hauled away by scavengers like the one in there now.

What's left is still tempting, but full of mines and still-functioning auto-turrets, deep inside a narrow passage through a warpstorm. Only the brave and the foolish make the attempt, the truly valuable bits were taken by explorators long ago… _mostly_.

* * *

Marcella grumbles at me, lip pouting, as I add Elodia's milk to my kaf. Not because of the milk, her own false-kaf has some too, but because she's already hit her caffeine limit for the day. Eta's instructions were quite clear on that matter when she gave them, back when 'Cella tested positive, but my lovely wife is just as much a caffeine junky as… honestly probably the majority of all humans ever.

One of the great remnants of the Dark Age is at least one native plant on every habitable world that produces caffeine, all edible, all tasty, all blatantly engineered from something else local at some point. Together the collection of plants is called either 'kaf' or 'tea' depending on whether you consume the seed or the leaf, and with so many varieties the trade in them is brisk.

Raising my cup to my lips, I look at her over the rim. "In a few months you can put Elodia on no-kaf so you can have some." She's still glowering at me, but I can tell she's trying not to smile. "You could even do it permanently… not that it would help much when you catch again." The smile breaks through, her expression turning dreamy at the idea.

Watching her smile at the idea as I take a gulp of kaf, I contemplate the prospect of _more_ children. This is a dangerous universe, even if they'll be among the safest people in it. But as horrid as this universe is, as _unsafe_ as it is… I'd love to make it safe _first_ and have children _later_ , but I'd never be able to get the leverage that way, even with the collars. I'm going to need both the collars _and_ a strong and pure House Cassini. The collars will give me the lever, my family now and future will give me the place to stand. And maybe, just maybe, we can save countless generations to come.

"What are you thinking about?"

"Hmm?"

"You were frowning."

"Oh, just thinking about how to keep our children safe, and theirs, and _theirs_."

"Oh…" Thinking about that for a moment, she gets up and moves over to sit on my lap instead of in the next chair over, snuggling close while careful not to spill her drink. Personally I have to set mine down on the table and pick it up again, or I'd get it in her hair when I tried to take another drink.

 **Segmentum Obscurus**  
**Koronus Sector**  
**Koronus Passage: The Battleground**  
**The Warp**  
**Heavy Transport - Writ of Surplus**  
**9.350.736M41**  
**Est. Warp-out 9.353.736M41**

It's a few days into the, thankfully peaceful so far, transit of the ancient battleground when a new face joins the afternoon marksmanship practice halfway through. I personally missed her arrival, light steps lending her a natural silence, but the greeting she gets from my guards draws my attention. Looking over I find Gabrielle looking back at me with a flush to her cheeks, and an odd mix of emotions to her expression. I raise an eyebrow and she looks away, blushing deeper, and then makes her way over to the far end of the booths at the range.

I lose line of sight after that, and would lose it again even without the walls between the booths. The cloud of darkness that billows out buries the next three booths and draws an annoyed yell from Harley when that includes hers. The edge of that darkness roils with the exit of a fast moving ripple in the air. Missing the target, it continues on to strike the floor of the range and hammer a gleaming track in among the countless scuffs and gouges from misses over the years. A second hazy bolt follows a few seconds later, likewise missing the target, but this time carrying on down the range until it dissipates before striking the far wall.

"Well, her aim needs work, but presumably that's why she's here."

"She's here _now_ because you are milord." Ligia informs me, having approached when Gabrielle arrived. "She asked us when you practice. I think she wants you to see her improving."

"Last I saw she was having trouble keeping a kettle bell steady in the air." It's been several days, but I suspect the amount of improvement here is the result of a _massive_ investment of time and effort. And yes, I set things up to push her hard, but she seems to be going above and beyond even that… Or maybe she just _really_ wants that reward as soon as possible. Considering my performance so far today, I look at the remaining unused plates and completely destroy Edith's book by holstering my weapon and turning to Marcella. "I'm going to go talk to her for a bit, then help you like usual."

" _Help_." Ligia quotes drily.

"Focusing through distraction is a good skill." I retort primly, drawing myself up and raising my nose in an exaggerated manner. "It's partly why I ordered more practice rounds for Lucy. Marge is _very_ distracting, at least for now. Thalia is working on instilling fear, so you can look forward to _that_ during practice at some point." With that I turn away and start heading over to Gabrielle.

"Wait, she's working on _what!?_ " I hear from behind me, and grin. I have no intention of inflicting that on my women very often, but in a real fight we'll be scared for our lives, so working on marksmanship while _artificially_ scared for our lives will help greatly.

With the collar on Gabrielle is immune to the filtered light of the warp from my eye, unless I deliberately focus it on her I expect, so as I reach the edge of her little realm of darkness I simply open it wide and step in. Operating entirely on warp sight in the materium isn't perfect, but it's enough for me to step up behind her and wait for her to turn her head. "Milord?"

"Considering how you were doing with telekinesis last I saw, I'm impressed."

"I can't hit anything."

"Yet. But you put some nice dents in the plasteel flooring." As the darkness around us starts to fade, I nod toward the range. "Well?" Huffing, she turns around and flings out her arm, the psychic ripple more visible to warp sight than flesh eyes. I tap her arm just before it leaves her fingertips, watching the target's immediate future carefully. It actually hits this time, and there's a loud ringing like a gong as the corner of the target bends back. She stares at it sightlessly for a moment, then turns to stare at me instead, jaw a little slack.

"That looks like it would hurt. But I'd suggest starting with the target closer and slowly moving it back, so you can actually see how far off you were. That's what I did. I can't really help much more since I have no idea what the 'correct' form is for throwing those things."

"Yes milord."

"Good." I start to turn away, as though about to leave, and then turn back. "By the way, marksmanship and whatever the thing you're throwing is called are _two_ skills." With that I actually do leave, leaving her to process the implications while I go 'help' Marcella. Not that she needs all that much now, she's rapidly catching up with all the benefits of the collars, and I don't really have anyone to turn to for instruction on this particular art. Not on the Writ at least.

Approaching from behind, I push her braid to the side so I can press up against her back, one arm going to rest against hers, the other going to lay my splayed hand over her belly. Her bump is rather substantial now, forcing a change in her wardrobe since none of her more form-fitting clothes fit anymore. Instead she's relegated to empire waists and other maternity styles, visibly pregnant from across the room if she turns sideways.

She also has a new breastplate for her carapace armor, irritatingly heavy, but extra thick and molded to fit around her predicted maximum size. Combined with the backplate and she's a bit less mobile when wearing them, but she's less mobile _anyway_ now, so it's a tradeoff she's willing to make.

The silly smile that appears on her lips when I splay my hand across her belly possessively seems to light up the room… or that could just be the las-fire from the other booths.

* * *

"...Eta!?" The much-changed machine-priestess looks over from where she appears to have been conversing with Aunt Silvea, smiling brilliantly when she sees me. The grill over her nose and mouth is entirely gone now, leaving behind a somewhat mottled, yet symmetric, mix of fleshy skin and silvery synthetic. Her eyelids are silver, as is a triangular swath starting from the bridge of her nose and sweeping down and out to either side of her lips before continuing on down her throat. Her cheeks and brow are still mostly pale skin, almost pasty due to long years without light, but she has some access to her own sliders now, she could have changed that.

The silver picks up again at her hairline, thin mechadendrites giving the impression of silver cornrows… Well, they're too closely spaced to be cornrows, but the segmented metal tentacles give the impression of braids anyway. As she stands up and walks closer, I notice a dozen other tiny changes, various vestigial overt augmentations no longer overt, their surface plates now recessed behind silvery doors that match the rest of her forearms. The red robes still hide much of her body, but they hang more freely now, their folds apparently altered a bit to highlight her new figure. "The last five shifts have been kind to you."

"Thank you." She replies, stepping closer and reaching toward me. I return the hug with a smile, enjoying the new lack of hard edges and corners under her robes to poke at my fleshy arms. Her breasts squish even more pleasantly than they do in simulation, such pleasures something that the Mechanicus has apparently never found worth duplicating with greater fidelity. When she tilts her head I go for the offered kiss, meeting her lips for the first time outside simulation, momentarily boggled by the way those purchased skills seem to include even her synthetic lips. Regardless, I give her my all, gently lapping my tongue across the smooth pliable surface, biting down firmly on her lip after sucking it between my teeth. I don't have the jaw strength to actually do damage, and she seems to melt a little when I pull back like that, tugging hard on her lip until the impervious surface slides through my teeth.

Then I let go and face the music… or rather Silvea's laughter. I fix her with a glare while Marcella welcomes our fully transformed priestess much as I did. I'd dearly love to watch their kiss, but glaring at my aunt for her teasing takes priority for the moment. I can watch them kiss much more later, preferably when Silvea _isn't_ there to laugh at them.

"What _would_ you think if I didn't tease you?" She speaks through her laughter. "You'd think I'm an impostor."

I rub at my third eye with a groan, wishing she wasn't correct.

**Segmentum Obscurus**  
**Koronus Sector**  
**Koronus Passage**  
**The Warp**  
**Heavy Transport - Writ of Surplus**  
**9.312.736M41**  
**Est. arrival at The Battleground 9.346.736M41**

"Chief Petty Officer FaltzS/N:489756124753;Nominated-WCM:CV:9.291.736M41, please enter."

As the man limps into her office, not yet accustomed to the augmentic leg, Eta sweeps him with a number of specialized auspex scanners, others in the room joining her observation… 'Her' observation. Her auxiliary processes still stutter for a microsecond when that personal designation passes through, error checking routines still being updated. The stutter is dismissed as temporary miscalibration every time, and is too fast for anyone not so blessed by the Omnissiah to notice. In this case it happened and finished before the scans completed, leaving her… ready to process the results.

The CPO standing before her… was one of the first to board the Avaricious Tooth, advancing to melee when subject Casuat provided a distraction. That however, is not the interesting portion of his superior's report. "It is quite irregular for a full unittwenty armsmen to be nominated for commendationValor in Combat."

"With respect Chiurgeon, we didn't know when or even if we'd get Casuat's support back. The enemy was before us, and with or without support they needed to die. A thick shield and a good chainsword will beat a lasgun in tight quarters, trick is getting that close quick enough. Sometimes charging is the safe option." He gives her… a hard smile. "Doesn't make it any easier mind you, but if the right thing and the easy thing were the same, men wouldn't need courage."

"Wise." She… pauses a minute, simply observing his reactions closely.

"With respect, why am I here?"

"You are aware of Seargent Fantz's squad?"

"...The fire team that traded their dicks for augments? I've heard rumors, but I'd better not repeat them. Why?"

"They're a fire teamHVY,DMR,3RFM, not a melee specialist among them."

"If you're recruiting-" His delay before connecting the dots is longer than predicted, but adjustments will likely be able to fix that. "-I have questions first."

"Ask, and I will answer what you're cleared for."

* * *

The boarding of the Avaricious Tooth provided ample opportunity to measure the combat performance and capability of the Writ's security forces. The pirates were well aware that they would receive no quarter, and so they never gave a millimeter. The manner in which the crew demonstrated their capability varied, from Faltz's platoon of shock troops, to Cauldoon's clever use of explosives to eliminate foes from adjacent decks, to Tarnen's commandeering of the enemy loudhailers.

Considering the available recruits, and her… budget of collars, she carefully considers not only the needs of the experimental protocol, but also Navigator Tristain's needs moving forward. Memories of her experience with him across the MIU cable cause abnormal metabolic acceleration, but the excess thermal load is somehow pleasant. Sensations and emotive contexts long forsaken returning to her awareness.

"One squadPrefer 1st from Faltz's platoon. Five collars of which three are expected to produce new data. Duplicate or highly similar data from remaining pair may corroborate existing data. Skill acquisition will preserve Navigator Tristain from additional threat profiles.

"Possible issue, shock troops may wish to avoid fraternization… Emotive context generates confusion regarding this possibility, but logic dictates it be accounted for."

Pausing her internal note taking for the moment, Eta-623 takes some time to contemplate her own changes, specifically the mental side. The inexorable shifting of her thoughts toward Tristain whenever he's nearby, the less inexorable desire for proximity when he's not. That latter will need suppression somehow, in other collars of course, which is a possible experiment for the shock troops once they're changed.

* * *

 **Segmentum Obscurus**  
**Koronus Sector**  
**Koronus Passage**  
**The Warp**  
**Heavy Transport - Writ of Surplus**  
**9.328.736M41**  
**Est. arrival at The Battleground 9.346.736M41**

"Combat ServitorS/N:78566234853456 experiment both disappointing and reassuring. Improving the combat effectiveness of salvaged crew would be desirable, but the prospect of a servitor attempting relations with my Tristainwarmth/affection is unsettlingjealousy.

"Resurgent emotive contexts remain distracting, but not yet detrimental to personal efficiency."

Removing the collar from the servitor, Eta turns and leaves the reclamation ward. When there's no crew salvage occurring, the ward is almost totally abandoned, a row of combat servitors in their storage bays along the wall, a handful of operating tables, and little else. It's not even manned much of the time which is convenient. The entirely flesh crew finds the location unsettling, and the duties of the mechanicus seldom bring her compatriots here.

As she proceeds back toward her own domain, her thoughts turn to Tristain, and the promise of relations once she's capable of such. The enduring perfection of the machine is slower to change in-place than flesh when given correct instructions, but is also much easier to replace. Constructing additional implants of the same patterns she's being granted may be desirable prior to adding more of the Omnissiah's faithful. Precisely how she would go about that construction is going to require much thought, as while the patterns include the end result, they do not include construction documentation.

These archeotech miracles would also be ideal replacement limbs should Tristain ever require or desire them, which is also reason enough to puzzle out their creation.

The thought of him wearing augmentics like them forces her to halt her steps for a minute, processing the pulsing contractions in the vicinity of her pelvis. The collar's reconstruction of her reproductive tract has apparently reached the stage of being arousal-capable, and sensations she hasn't experienced in many decades cloud her mind.

Perhaps the emotive contexts are indeed becoming detrimental, but she wants them to continue. Offering a prayer to the Omnissiah for clarity in the matter, she resumes her trek back to the officer's infirmary.

* * *

**Segmentum Obscurus**  
**Koronus Sector**  
**Koronus Passage**  
**The Warp**  
**Heavy Transport - Writ of Surplus**  
**9.337.736M41**  
**Est. arrival at The Battleground 9.346.736M41**

"The results of testing contraindicate physical capability sliders being set to maximum in all axes. Excessive elasticity hinders parry maneuvers with the sword, while improving evasion capability. The former being more crucial than the latter in the line of defending othersTristain, shock troops should receive a setting of 30%. Lower settings increase risk of tear, while higher increases vulnerability to beat maneuvers.

"Reducing libido sliders has proven an unwieldy endeavor. Each slider reduced increases other aspects. I posit the existence of a sequence that will allow all desire for TristainAffection to be eliminated, while leaving the underlying biological drives intact. If possible, this would allow remote subjects to find all necessary relief with other subjects in their vicinity.

"In the immediate term, neglect and objectification axes have proven useful in ensuring that the new subjects do not seek out Navigator TristainAffection."

The internally stored reports will never be seen by any adept who is not similarly collared, but she finds satisfaction in keeping the records complete regardless. Not only is it pleasing to the Machine God, but may also prove useful to TristainAffection in the future. The collars are an incredible legacy of the Dark Age, a possible weapon of incredible power, but they also brought her into his orbit as more than simply his physician. Prayers of thanks for aid in finding love are not the typical fare offered to the Omnissiah, but she offers them anyway.

Her projected changes are nearly complete. For some reason this fact produces a desire to verbally imitate unlubricated bearings.

Once we're alone and the door's closed, Eta lets her impatience show through her mechadendrites, the metallic tentacles undoing all our clothing at the same time in a flurry of movement. Looking past her at Marcella I share a laugh with my similarly amused wife. To be fair, Eta has been waiting a _while_ for her body to finish changing so she could have this… Come to think of it, Harley and Edith have been collared longer, why haven't they- A question for later.

Eta slows down just a little as her own robes pull away, carefully folding them _just so_ before placing them on one of the chairs by the door. Fair enough, hers are actually a religious vestment, unlike our clothing, which despite the iconography, isn't. Standing there naked, she folds her mechadendrites out of the way and spreads her arms a bit, looking down at herself and then at me, very much a 'well?' gesture. The body she's presenting looks like a statue where the artist was instructed to merge a lush woman's figure with a cyberpunk-chrome aesthetic. The gleaming silver swath that spreads out as it moves down from the bridge of her nose continues down beneath the robes, widening out to cover everything a halter dress might.

Her shoulders leave the myomer bare, carbon black musculature shot through with silver veins, attachment points available here and there for… I'm not sure what goes there. The silvery skin of her front also carries out beneath her armpits to wrap halfway around her arms, the backs of her arms continue the exposed myomers, but the fronts are silver, as are the palms of her hands. The swath of silver covering her torso, and on down to her legs, has nearly invisible seams here and there that look like they might open up, revealing something hidden beneath.

Stepping forward, I embrace her again, my arms having to circle her low around her waist to avoid the rows of mechadendrites to either side of her spine above, and I find that the smooth, and apparently _sensitive_ skin continues around to her lower back, even if the upper back remains bare. It's a bit inconvenient having them there, since they're in the way of just sliding a hand up to grasp the back of her head for a particularly passionate kiss, but it's a small problem in the scheme of things. She trembles a little when my hands slide over her skin like that, just as sensitive to my touch as when she had mere slivers of it around other implants. "Surprised you didn't go for more coverage, given how much you're enjoying my touch." I tease lightly as I go for a kiss.

She moans when I press against her full body like this, my cock pressing against the yielding synthskin of her belly, my chest squashing silvery breasts and my lips nibbling at hers. The forest of small mechadendrites forming her hair burst into movement, enveloping my head and running the tips through my hair while her arms simply return my hug. My kiss lapses in the face of the exceptional scalp massage, like a half dozen hands all put to the task at once. "Ohhhh…" Absently letting my lips trail along her cheek, I lean my neck forward and to the side, ending up kissing the side of her neck while she carries on. "Marcella, you _have_ to feel this scalp massage." I manage to get out past the side of her neck. Pulling one arm away from Eta, I beckon her closer, inviting her to make it a three way hug. Her appreciative moans as more of the little metal tendrils start rubbing her scalp let me know I'm not alone in appreciating the experience.

Of course, just standing here with us nibbling at her neck and giving us headrubs isn't what Eta's here for, and I can tell she's getting a little impatient after a while. Reluctantly pulling free, I blink a few times when I find she's managed to re-braid 'Cella's hair sometime in the last minute or two. "Huh." twirling my finger, I get her to spin around so I can have a better look. The complicated looking plait is wide and flat, shortening her locks to only reach mid-back somehow. "Very nice. But not exactly what you're here for is it?"

"No. I want #####... I never-" Her hesitance is adorable, the calm, composed, competent Biologis. She knows everything _medical_ there is to know about the process, but really?"

"Wait, really?"

"Not with this ##emotional context." She answers, and I find myself very glad that the indicator panels lining portions of her skin are either not under voluntary control, or poorly controlled. "In schola we performed the actions to understand the physiology, but it was merely coursework. I didn't care for them like this. The emotions are compromising my logic, but I don't want to reject them, I want to embrace them, for you. It's difficult to remain focused at times, thoughts of you refuse to stay away and I long-"

"Well, I think we can do something about that longing. Go ahead and lay down." I instruct with a gesture toward the bed. Laying down, she splays her mechadendrites out wide, spreading her weight. Even so she makes the mattress sink quite a bit, reminding everyone that she's largely alloy and composite. Her hopeful expression is a bit odd with the sensor cluster compound eyes, but they're not _that_ distracting. Kneeling on the bed between her knees I ask "So, is there enough flesh her to get wet?" as I bring a finger to her silvery lower lips. Indeed they're very slick, and when I pull my finger away there's a substantial stringer of aroused goo that tenaciously connects my finger to her pussy.

"The glands are## present. I reduced production during my duty shifts and turned them back up for you ##Tristain."

"Lovely." Scooting my knees closer, I grab her widely flared hips and line myself up while Marcella climbs onto her face. The plethora of fine manipulator mechadendrites adorning Eta's head reach up to embrace her, curling around her distended belly and fondling her perfect petite breasts with their beautiful perky nipples. Watching for a moment as a silvery tongue meets pink pussy, I'm a little surprised by 'Cella's gasp and abrupt curling in on herself a little, her legs dropping her the rest of the way down while her eyes squeeze shut and her lips form a lovely 'O' while goosebumps appear over her skin.

"Oh!... By the Thronnnnne yesyesyesyesyes-" As she's apparently in less than no distress, I pull myself forward, sinking into what proves to be a very strange experience, however pleasurable. She's not all one material inside, velvety flesh and smooth slick synthskin interleaved in some pattern I can't gather the attention to make out at the moment. Hot and slick, rippling around me very rhythmically with mechanical precision even as Eta's legs and hands start grabbing at me much more organically. As I reach bottom I discover what has 'Cella crying out like she is, and nearly hit my head on hers as I fold forward, instead ending up with our heads on each other's shoulders. Eta _vibrates_. The depths of her pussy, and presumably her tongue, capable of oscillations far beyond what tissues found in those places could hope to achieve.

The unexpected stimulation, the sheer intensity of it, the lewd perversion of being capable of it, the elation that this perfect sexual creature is devoted to me… It all leads to a very quick climax, the tingling vibrations seeming to flow up from the head of my dick, out from my groin and up to explode through my mind. As the pleasure fades away, I find my self still leaning against my wife, mutually blissed out from that experience. "Emperor's _bowels_ Eta! That was incredible."

"Vibratory devices remain popular despite the lack of manufactories. There ##must be a reason."

Considering that her mouth is still covered by 'Cella's pussy, it's obvious the more metallic sounding version of her voice is coming from another source, though where in her body I couldn't say. I suspect if she were using her more human sounding voice it would also sound smug, but the inflection is lost this way… or possibly contained in the burst of binaric.

"Right…" I remain motionless for a bit. "You're going to have to go easy on me a bit though, or I won't be able to give _you_ a proper fucking."

"Thank you."


	3. Branches

**Segmentum Obscurus**  
**Koronus Sector**  
**Koronus Passage: The Battleground**  
**The Warp**  
**Heavy Transport - Writ of Surplus**  
**9.358.736M41**  
**Est. Arrival at The Temple 9.402.736M41**  
It's another day before Gabrielle actually comes to us after our marksmanship practice, this time with a plate floating behind her that has a substantially larger hole in it. It's still hardly centered, but she's clearly making immense progress. "Yeah, that looks pretty effective." I make a show of inspecting the damage. "Marksmanship still needs work, but…"

"That's a different skill milord."

"Exactly." Reaching out I ruffle her hair and get a glare that quickly turns into an eyes-closed tremble when my fingers seek out the correct spots. She's pent up enough after weeks without release that I probably  _ could _ get her off with a scalp massage if she had permission. Keeping my fingers moving as she leans into it, I maintain the motions until her prize wobbles in the air, threatening to fall to the floor. At that point I start to taper off, and gesture to the plate when she opens her eyelids to give me a new blank glare. "You might not want to drop that on your foot." I point out, and she reddens a little more, stabilizing the plate and letting it down gently.

"Please milord, I need it." As she lets her guard down a bit, the raw need does indeed come through in her voice, a bit of a psychic echo carrying it along as well, though that washes off my well protected mind save for enough to notice it's there. Somewhat amusingly, a quick peek finds a few  _ things _ swimming around deeper than the ship, sniffing after the source of the need and looking very confused about their inability to find it. Coming right up to the gellar field like that is  _ unwise _ however, no matter that they're in a direction most mortals can't see, and I reach out to give them a metaphorical backhand. The weakest of them dissipate, while the stronger are stunned and fall behind the ship. None were strong enough to deserve the title of daemon, or that might not have worked as well. Gabrielle sags in place when I do that, the temporary suppression of her own abilities bypassing the collar when it comes from me or 'Cella.

"Here?" I ask, while she's still relaxing into the feel of my suppression. It's strictly detrimental to a collared psyker, but it also makes it easier to maintain control for the uncollared. A little bubble of calm warp can be quite relaxing for them, and I suppose the enjoyment of it carries over. Too bad I can't maintain it  _ that _ long yet, or I'd just let Thalia and/or Elodia cuddle under the effect… Hard to say whether I'll get that good at it or Gabby will earn a place on that list first.

"Hmm?... If you wish, milord.-" She looks around at the range, then ducks her head a bit upon realizing she's enjoying headpats in public. "I'd prefer some privacy?"

"We can do that. Come on."

…

…

As we approach our quarters with Gabrielle in tow, she's clearly growing ever more anxious about it. I'm not entirely sure what she's expecting, but she actually  _ has _ earned one of the rewards I promised. On the way we happen to end up with a lift to ourselves… Well, and our guards, but they don't count as 'public' anymore. As such, the head pats resume, with Gabby's eyelids widening initially before fluttering shut, soft whimpers of enjoyment escaping here and there. Her breathing deepens and the flush of arousal disappears into the top of her robes of station, even the way she keeps the top buttons undone not revealing the full extent of the blush, even as it does reveal what little cleavage she has left after the age reduction.

As the lift proceeds along its journey, she leans into the touch more and more, clearly having given up on the dignity of not succumbing and instead just letting it happen… Lucy's "D'awww!" At one point makes her pull away and glare, at which point Lucy gets  _ two _ glares for interrupting. Not that either has much effect without being backed up with actions.

"Is armswoman Katiio ticklish Ligia?"

"I believe she is Sir." Lucy's eyes widen, and she gives her sergeant a betrayed look.

"Hmmm…" I just leave that there, letting the implicit threat hang over her head to make her squirm for a while. I might actually use that knowledge later, but for now letting her know I know is punishment enough. Gabrielle returns to her embarrassed enjoyment of the headpats. Well, it's a head rub, but still.

…

…

As I follow Gabby and 'Cella into our bedroom, after having held the door, I gesture to my wife that she can have the lead here. She's the one who talked me down, so she can have the honors so to speak. She looks back and forth between us, then smiles. "Disrobe and come over here." While Gabby hurries to comply, she heads over to the overstuffed loveseat where she's sat to watch me with others before.

It doesn't take long for Gabby to undress, the robes of an astropath not being very complicated garments by any means, and then she follows Marcella. My lovely wife pulls Gabby onto her lap when she gets close, spinning her around to face me with her back against 'Cella, having to sit on her knee really with the bump in the way, and leaning back against her shoulder. The mischievous grin my wife is wearing seems promising, so I just watch as she starts running her fingers over our plaything of the moment, teasing her nude body mercilessly.

Gabrielle still has some flare to her hips and small perky breasts, I didn't set her age slider down  _ that _ far, but she's clearly embarrassed to appear like this anyway, having had a rather abundant body before. Neatly manicured nails trace wandering patterns over her soft skin, not hard enough to cause pain apparently, but not being the one applying them to Gabrielle's skin I can't tell more than that. Aside from the fact that it apparently feels good, as she's arching into the touches, eyelids closed and muttering something I can't make out.

While I enjoy the show, I go ahead and get undressed myself. After having me watch her with another woman, 'Cella is going to be nearly dying of thirst, regardless of whether she has Gabby bring her off or not… Or maybe that was just Thalia's dirty talk that time, the woman has a  _ gift _ for riling her up.

Seating myself on the bed, I take myself in hand and start slowly stroking, mostly for 'Cella's visual enjoyment since I have no intention of spending in my hand when I have two horny young women here. Gabrielle's gasp when I'm left bare to her psy-vision is somewhat amusing, as is the way it takes her a bit to formulate words. She may have been a bit of a sexpot before the choker, but I doubt she ever went weeks of denial with daily edges before.

"H-how does that fit? Y-your wife is-unf!" Marcella's hand dips down to drag a finger between glistening puffy lips, disappearing between them to stroke along soaked inner lips and hypersensitive clit. She arches her back into the stimulation, but it doesn't help, I haven't actually given her permission yet. Neither has 'Cella, though she could.

Giggling, she answers the unfinished question. " _ Barely _ , that's how it fits, and it's  _ glorious _ ." There's heat in her eyes when she says that, staring into mine with a sultry smile I've caught her practicing in a mirror before. Not that this makes it less hot, or keeps it from making me throb. I'm already iron hard watching like this, and I'm  _ definitely _ looking forward to wherever 'Cella decides to take this next. Her fingers continue exploring slick folds, and I can see a stain starting to grow on her skirt where Gabrielle's grooling heavily. It's something I've turned up for every woman who shares my bed, or who I intend to. No point having anyone dry if they're at all interested.

Gabby's moans and whimpers at my wife's hands are a delightful music, a song of long denied need and profound desire, wordless complaints at being still held back on the edge of the precipice. Her hips keep getting faster in their attempts to grind into 'Cella's touch, but no matter how she tries it's not enough. Finally- "Please! Please milady! I need it, I need it so much!  _ Pleeeeassseee! _ "

"One last task-"

"Hnnng!"

"And then you may climax."

"Pleasepleaseplease…"

"Get his whole  _ cock _ inside you."

"Hnnnnn… He's too big milady! Before the collar sure, but now-" Of course, Marcella and I both know I  _ will _ fit, if tightly enough to be just that side of uncomfortable.

"You'll stretch." She reassures. "The collars improve elasticity too."

"Oh!" Gabrielle's writhing shifts demeanor, abruptly scrambling to get off of 'Cella's lap and over to me. She ends up on the floor and doesn't bother to stand, instead scrabbling across the carpet and climbing up by grabbing my knee to haul herself up. Behind her Marcella has hiked her skirts up so she can 'properly' appreciate the view. She teased Gabby into a frothing mess and then sicced her on me, but I have no objections.

As she climbs up, I wrap my arms around her and help a little, hauling her the rest of the way and holding her tight to deliver a firm bite and suck to the side of her neck before letting go, ensuring there's a mark just below the choker, far enough to the side to potentially hide with the hood of her robes if she wants.

Taking advantage of my grip, the lithe body in my arms squirms around while I suck on her neck, freeing a hand to line me up, then starts squirming again trying to force herself  _ down _ . With a bit of a chuckle I allow it, waiting for the moment the sensations hit. Much like Jezmine I've turned Gabby's stretch sensor density and sensitivity all the way up. Marcella tried it, but didn't like how it washed out the  _ other _ sensations slightly.

The girl in my lap comes to a halt just after my head manages to squeeze inside, the amazing tightness trying to keep me out, her wetness trying to let me in, her mind caught trying to figure out how to proceed. She whines from the back of her throat, a warbling tune that slides up the scale to inaudibility as I keep sliding in slowly. She's trembling and quivering on the edge of climax, desperate to push further so she can finally,  _ finally _ , cum. Her arms wrap tight around me, and her heels hook under my knees for leverage as she oozes down onto my iron length. That quivering is all through her body, including inside, and even before she starts cuming she's massaging my length

When I bump against one side of her cervix she stops with a gasp and looks down, letting go of me with one hand to press just above her mound, where a slight bulge is actually visible. Then her hand trails down to find where there's another few centimeters still outside and she gulps, before resuming her press. Bumping past the gates, I squeeze just a little deeper before pressing hard against the actual back wall of her pussy. Just a little bit more stretching and-

I slam my will down on the warp around us, muffling the impending psychic scream. 'Cella locks her down as well, holding her powers tight while weeks of tension unwind all at once and the room goes black. She's too tight to be really  _ able _ to clench in any interesting patterns, instead just kind of quivering while all the air leaves her lungs in a sharp voiceless woosh, like she's had the wind knocked out of her.

She stays like that for a while, then simply passes out. Dragging her off my erection takes a moment, her pussy deeply reluctant to let go, and then 'Cella is right there to pounce, swallowing my cock slowly as she licks Gabby's abundant juices off of it. Her eyes look up into mine, and she's smiling around my cock even as she gags, allowing her throat to rebel for our enjoyment even though she doesn't have to. Where Gabby is tight enough to hold me back, Marcella's throat is as perfect as the rest of her, massaging and rippling wetly, gurgling spitting sounds making their way up to my ears, heedless of the noble visage we hold in public. She knows quite well how to get me off quickly, and she's very thirsty. Threading my fingers through her hair, I hold her head gently while all the tension in my body seems to get drawn out and down her throat, pleasure tingling over me and curling my toes. She groans around me as I erupt, her own climax lighting up her nerves anew with every pulse.

Climbing up on the bed afterwards, she snuggles in between me and Gabrielle, both of us waiting for her to wake.

…

…

"That was… amazing." Our toy whispers sometime later. "I think that was the best ever."

"Feeling that good would have killed you without the choker."

"What!?" That wakes her  _ right _ up.

"Oh yes. Your scream of pleasure was psychic. We gagged you a bit for that, but you were still  _ wide open _ except for the collar."

"Oh…"

"Other than that, how do you feel?"

"Hehehehe, like a wrung out rag milord… that was  _ incredible _ ."

"Extended periods of denial and teasing will do that."

Rolling onto her back, Gabrielle stretches out and then brings a hand down to cup her pussy, rubbing her thighs together a bit and then gasping. "What?... milord? Did you do something to me?"

"Obviously. Can you be more specific?"

"My finger feels thicker."

"Oh, that, yes."

"Hehehe, so you weren't satisfied with  _ being _ as thick as my new arm, you had to  _ feel _ as thick as my leg? Milord?"

"Such cheek." I scold lightly. "Give yourself however much of a spanking for that as you think you deserve." She just rolls away, turning her head to keep looking at us, and slaps her butt once, rather invitingly.

"About what I figured."

  
**Segmentum Obscurus**  
**Koronus Sector**  
**Koronus Passage: The Battleground**  
**The Warp**  
**Heavy Transport - Writ of Surplus**  
**9.372.736M41**  
**Est. Arrival at The Temple 9.402.736M41**  
Watching both Harley and Gabrielle degenerate into needy aroused messes over the past week… The latter at least started from a state of relief and relaxation after her reward, but Harley's sudden requirement to not merely go without, but to  _ actively ruin _ some number of her orgasms has had a substantial effect. "Just don't let it affect your duties Armswoman."

"Ulp. Yes milord." I can  _ hear _ the need in her voice, and Edith's chuckle certainly can't help.

"You've been the odd woman out haven't you Bergfalk?" I ask, without actually specifying what I'm referring to since we're out in the hallways.

"Sir?"

"How have you been handling things?"

"It's a bit rough, but I can deal, Sir." She answers, and I could swear there's a well-hidden wistfulness in her voice.

"You don't have to." Marcella speaks up, snuggling in under my arm as we walk.

"Ma'am?" She sounds a little surprised. "I thought- Well, not everyone lucks out with their changes when they put one of these things on, right?"

"No, but your luck wasn't bad." I inform her, and leave it there while she considers her new perspective. I have something to consider too now I suppose, if she was feeling  _ down _ about not getting an invite… Her mental fortitude is probably something for Eta to inspect for other collars, if possible, but I didn't exactly mean to make her feel rejected.

* * *

  
**Segmentum Obscurus**  
**Koronus Sector**  
**Koronus Passage: The Battleground**  
**The Warp**  
**Heavy Transport - Writ of Surplus**  
**9.382.736M41**  
**Est. Arrival at The Temple 9.402.736M41**  
"What happened to your arm?" Eta looks up from her work when I ask that, still standing in the door to the infirmary.

"An experiment." She answers quite simply. "Will I get the same result repeatedly? The already changed one is on my workbench, ideally the rebuild of a single arm will take much less time than the full-body change. I'll also be requesting Explorator Gamma two-seven permit me to grant Fensil an autosanguine implant for research purposes once we rendezvous with the Emperor's Vow. My own oxygen needs are far lower than hers, and I'm eager to study the effects on an augmentic lung with a greater operational load."

"I'm sure she'll be thrilled with the prettier arm."

"Indeed…" She pauses a minute, turning away from an I'm-not-sure-what-that-machine-does. "When we reach Furibundus, if the ship is to spend sufficient time in the system I would like to take a shuttle to Altar-Templum-Calixis-Ext-17 with at least one collar. It may be quite some time before I am able to submit my reports directly, but I can send a copy of the preliminary with their next courier."

"That puts a collar out of our reach pretty soon, but…" I consider it for a minute, Eta's loyalty is unquestionable at this point, and I trust her judgement, but I can't help thinking there's something I'm miss- Leaning in, I whisper quietly. "The protections will be incomplete." Her eyebrows raise, and I lean in closer. "The order against falling to chaos."

  


"Oh. Perhaps a recording?"

"Something that can't get accidentally separated. Can you engrave them? Will that work?"

"I can test it on more armsmen."

"Yeah, good. It'll need to be innocuous, maybe a prayer or something? And we don't want anyone to miss it before putting one on."

"Subject Chandier has more complete knowledge of the Imperial Truth than I do. I will work with her to create something suitable to His worshipers in both aspects."

"Yeah, that sounds good. We should also test whether  _ I _ need to be the one doing the engraving, or if I can just dictate it to you or delegate or what."

* * *

  
**Segmentum Obscurus**  
**Koronus Sector**  
**Koronus Passage: The Battleground**  
**The Warp**  
**Heavy Transport - Writ of Surplus**  
**9.384.736M41**  
**Est. Arrival at The Temple 9.402.736M41**  
"Climax, hard. Now read the other side." and on the back "After you've read the other side, please join me in the bath."

The little scrap of flimsy I simply tuck into Marcella's hand while she remains asleep, then head to go get a few things ready and then soak in the bath while I wait for her to wake up on her own. It's a fun little experiment however it goes, whether she gets hit with the order or not, I have a nice little arrangement out here with scented candles and some massage oil. Even with perfect health the changing stresses on her body result in unwanted tension here and there, something I can lovingly relieve for at least a little while before we fully start our day.

It's less than ten minutes later that I hear a loud gasp and cry, and I have to grin a bit, both at the successful experiment, and at her probable reaction when she realizes  _ exactly _ what I just did to her. Sure enough, it's with a faux glare that my smiling wife comes out and joins me in the bath, sinking into the warmth with a sigh and leaning against me. "I guess written orders work." I remark.

"I noticed."

"Now how about you sit on the bench across from me, and I'll rub your feet."

"In a moment." Twisting around, she straddles my lap and leans forward over her bump to give me a kiss. It's a slow languid oral massage on both our parts, simply letting our lips stroke against each other's for a minute before she pulls away with a brilliant smile and floats backwards, putting her feet in my lap and starting to tease me with her toes a bit before I grab one and lift it out of the water. She tries to keep up the teasing for a bit, but once the oil pours over her foot and my thumbs start digging in, she seems to lose her concentration. "Hnnnnnggg… Should do this at the  _ end _ of the day."

"This  _ is _ the end of the day." I tease. "Or did you mean the  _ other _ end of the day?" Letting her start to formulate an answer, I finish with "Or both? We could do both."

"...yes, that."

"How greedy of you. In other matters, Eta is going to be testing engraving, to see if it works like that message. We're not sure how direct it needs to be, or, well, any of a dozen other factors, but  _ if _ it works then all is well. She wants to send her initial report back with the next courier from that research station near Furibundus, if we're in the system long enough."

  
**Segmentum Obscurus**  
**Koronus Sector**  
**Koronus Passage: The Battleground**  
**The Warp**  
**Heavy Transport - Writ of Surplus**  
**9.391.736M41**  
**Est. Arrival at The Temple 9.402.736M41**  
"So what is this?" I ask, sitting down at the desk-sized and shaped machine Eta obtained from somewhere on the ship. The seat isn't very comfortable, but I suppose the Mechanicus doesn't normally care that much about that.

"It is an ##Auto-engraver." She answers, then sighs. "Delegating the full inscription to me failed to convey as an order, but your written note to your Lady succeeded. Further written notes have also taken effect, but we have yet to ascertain the effect of an ##intervening machine. This will allow that experimentation. First, I have already set the inscription, you need merely grasp the ##handles protruding to either side and recite the lay ##prayer of activation." With that she places a small plate of plassteel in the clamp located in the center of the working surface. "Please close your #eyes. The first inscription is a test whether it works if you can't see it."

It's just as well as it turns out, because the thing is  _ bright _ when it's working. Even through my eyelids I can see the harsh glow of the laser-engraver, though not the actual text it's forming. I flinch and turn my head away, only for a familiar pair of soft metallic hands to place goggles over my head. "##Apologies. I expected your eyelids to be sufficient."

"They probably are, it was just uncomfortable." Turning my head back, I wait until the now-dim glow fades away to let go of the safety handles, not that they're called such in this life, and wait for Eta to swap out the plate.

"Disappointing." She declares, holding the plate where I can see it. The simple inscription is a single word, 'climax', and I chuckle at her choice of test instructions. "Same inscription, only this time with your awareness." Grabbing the handles again, I reactivate the auto-engraver and watch through darkened goggles as it inscribes the plate. The process is actually rather quick when you're watching it happen, instead of waiting in the not-so-dark for it to finish. This plate too is a disappointment when she removes it. "Perhaps if you specified the ##inscription instead of using my adjustments."

…

…

...

It's hours later when there's finally a hint of success. So long as I control the device by means of MIU connection, it works just fine. But if I try to do it manually, or if Eta adjusts a single dial it fails for reasons currently beyond us. I'd venture a guess that it somehow has to count as 'by my hand', and mental control counts. As is, the majority of the little plates are melted down once more, and the auto-engraver wiped of memories. Only the final success remains, a little toy I intend to use on my ladies before melting it down, even if it'll only work once each.

The actual script for engraving on the collars still needs work, my status as a  _ Navigator _ , and our general necessity within the Imperium, meaning we have to be careful  _ not _ to create a command that would result in us getting purged along with 'the mutant'. Simply forswearing them against chaos would work, save the attention it may draw from the Ordo Malleus.

Certainly an Inquisitor of the Ordo Malleus is likely to simply  _ accept _ my knowledge as a Navigator, but spreading that knowledge to others who don't already possess it may prove an issue. Of course, that  _ itself _ might be a self-solving problem. The loyalty of an Inquisitor, should I be able to obtain it, would be an immense boon. Regardless, I would like to be better established first, and we  _ do _ still have quite some time to work on the problem.

…

…

Lucy's low giggle when I finish getting it put in place is very nearly a cackle, and I share a conspiratorial grin with her. She's already experienced the effects, but the rest are liable to find it one at a time when next they take their showers. The private barracks they get as bodyguards means I don't have to worry about anyone  _ else _ running into it. "So is Harley back in the black again?"

"Not anymore Sir!" She's  _ far _ too cheerful about her squadmate's misfortune. Then again, if she's already managed to lose  _ another _ bet… Somehow without me realizing she'd  _ placed _ another such bet on me. Well, she's either going to learn better, or learn to enjoy it. "Too bad I can't spot her some and charge interest."

"I…  _ might _ be able to arrange that actually." I muse. "I'll have to think about that a bit. Maybe limit how far into the red you're permitted to go?"

"Aww, but loan-ambulling them is half the fun!"

"See, that's why I'm worried."

* * *

Edith is not, admittedly, the most attractive woman to come out of the chokers overall. Except for her eyes. I didn't change any settings about them, but somehow the light-grey almost-blue eyes from before ended up the sort of deep blue that only show up rarely in nature. 'Cella's greens are still better… Well, maybe. They certainly go better with her  _ hair _ , and I might be biased too. Either way, the royal blue orbs do go quite nicely with raven black hair, and her expression when I let her in is quite amusing.

"Did you like the new decoration?" I ask teasingly.

"I hit my head on the tile, Sir."

"Oops." I jerk my head to invite her in, letting the door slide shut behind her. "I never intended to leave you hanging." I reassure her now that we're in private. "Wanting to be drunk for the change gave me the impression you wouldn't  _ want _ to be drawn to our bed."

"...I  _ didn't _ Sir." She answers after a pause. "Even when Lucy- It's funny, I remember being afraid of you calling me to your bed, but now I want it." She chuckles. "Guess these things are good at their job. It's still worth it, but I feel sorry for everyone who gets one and then never gets to see you."

"Eta's working on that." As I start unbuttoning her shirt with a grin, I'm momentarily interrupted when 'Cella drags her down for a kiss. My wife has gotten more aggressive with our pets over the months we've had them, taking the initiative more often. It's  _ very hot _ from my perspective, both her eagerness and just the visuals of watching her with them. Holding Edith by the collar of her shirt for a kiss, the taller woman's raven hair falling down to lay over her coppery locks… "Beautiful." 'Cella giggles and Edith just smiles.

"Your wife is a good kisser milord."

"I'd noticed, but I'm better." Pulling her in, I thread my fingers through her hair to control her motion for a bit, seeking out the points that make her tremble a little, carefully paying attention to her breath as I strive to make it shake. My hands clench to apply a little bit of diffuse tension, and I trail off to the side to nibble along her jawline while she squirms. Knowing how to pull hair  _ correctly _ makes worlds of difference, and even if one life already knew it before the chokers, the extra little tips make it better. By the time I'm done Edith is a bit wobbly on her feet, and a glance at Marcella finds her nearly drooling.

"Oh  _ Terra _ that was…" She laughs. "I thought Jezmine was exaggerating. I  _ still _ think Lucy is."

"Maybe." I allow, resuming my efforts to unwrap her. Her waist isn't quite as narrow as the others, a little padding is present that thins and thickens day by day. Her build is very definitely optimized for endurance activity, with the ability to gain and lose storage fat at a rapid pace. The build of a marathoner not a sprinter. Even among human-maximum specimens there are tradeoffs to be made, like where to  _ put _ energy storage and how much to keep. Eta's records show a ten-kilo variation in her weight on a regular basis both before and after the collar.

Digging my thumbs in near her bellybutton extracts a squeal and makes her double over, trying to protect her apparently ticklish belly from the sudden assault. "AIEEEEEEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEEEE!!!" I only keep it up for a few seconds, just enough to make sure she's flooded with endorphins. As she straightens up again I go to fondle her breasts instead, catching her nipples between my fingers and gently pulling her toward the bed.

"You're going to watch me and 'Cella first, teasing yourself into a dripping mess while you do, and then I'm going to pound you while you clean her out. Does that sound good?"

"Yes Sir." She answers, dragging her feet a bit, even leaning back when I keep pulling.

"Do you  _ enjoy _ having your nipples pulled Edith?"

"Yes Sir." Well in that case, I clamp down a little harder and keep pulling, still letting her control how hard I pull with her own movement.

Setting her kneeling on the bed, I give her one more instruction before turning to Marcella. "While you watch us, you will pinch and pull and twist your own nipples as hard as you can enjoy. If you would climax from that, tell us about it, but don't actually cum."

Edith moans loudly as she starts following those instructions, her hands starting to maul her tender nubs mercilessly. It's quite a sight as I lay down spooning 'Cella and slide into her from behind. She's starting to get big enough to make it hard to show off in many positions. We can still manage most of them easily, but there's not enough of a gap for our pets to actually  _ see _ , which spoils 'Cella's fun. Like this though we can watch Edith play with her nipples and she can watch us.

It's a stark contrast, my relatively gentle treatment of my wife, while Edith goes to town on her nips, wincing and grimacing even as she starts literally dripping on the bed. "That looks like it  _ hurts _ ." She comments, arching into my much gentler hand playing with her breasts, moaning as I sink into her tight stretchy depths.

"It does milady." Edith answers. "Hurts like spicy food… not the burn, I mean… Your mouth hurts but you want more. Like that… I think… I think I'm about to-" Her face screws up more, and she groans, hips shaking as her body tries to disobey but can't. I just keep giving 'Cella a  _ relatively _ slow deep fuck, driving her to the top with wandering fingers almost as much as my cock. Edith is left trapped on the edge like that for several minutes while we enjoy the spectacle, but then I finally tip my wife over the edge and join her as she cries out, holding her tight against me with one hand clutching her chest, and the other around her bump.

"Edith, cum with us." I manage to get the words out as I go over, and she squeals loudly, abruptly shifting her hands to cup her tits protectively instead of mauling her nipples, doubled over and ending up face to climaxing face with Marcella.

…

"Sir?"

"Yes?"

"That was amazing, but maybe not very often?  _ Owwwww! _ "

"Fair enough. It's your turn now anyway."

  
  
  


  
**Segmentum Obscurus**  
**Koronus Sector**  
**Koronus Passage:**  
**The Temple**  
**Heavy Transport - Writ of Surplus**  
**9.402.736M41**  
**Scheduled Warp Dive 9.423.736M41**  
The dying ember of a star, surrounded by many thousands of spherical stones a few hundred meters across. Their distances from each other exactingly precise to all measurement. To the naked eye it looks like the rings of some gas giants, but here they orbit a dying star, cold and distant, barely providing any light to illuminate the rings. Instead it's the Vortex and the Roil that light the spheres, the malevolent light playing over them like the light at the bottom of a pool.

From inside the warp the system looks like a hurricane, a self-contained roiling maelstrom. We only got to see the place edge-on from there, exiting at the edge of the envelope and hurrying to make our way across. The place is a strange mixture of calming and unsettling for the warp-aware members of the crew. For all the howling storm just beneath the skein of reality, that very strength of the storm renders it inimical to many of the usual predators.

A mere inconvenience to anything strong enough to own a  _ name _ , but all the little nuisances that tend to pour through opportunistically at every tiny crack are absent. Instead there's just a pounding, roaring,  _ pressure _ to deal with. A bit like being grateful mosquitoes don't bite in a windstorm really.

Grabbing Marcella's arm, I spin her around and back up, bringing up a handheld auspex unit to capture the way her hair catches the faint light of the dying star, the Temple visible around her head like a halo. As the machine blats a success tone she rolls her eyes at me but smiles anway. "Is  _ that _ why you brought that with you this morning?"

"Of course." Stepping closer again, I lean down to plant a kiss on her eyelid as she closes it. "I want as many images as I can get before your pupils take over." She wraps her arms around me and snuggles against my chest as I stand straight again. "I'm sorry for pushing so hard." It's only sort of true. 'Cella knows at this point that I  _ could _ have set her collar to stop the mutation from happening, stop it from progressing. But it would have taken them from merely 'incredibly valuable' to 'kick off another age of apostasy' valuable. Instead we discussed which of the common mutations she'd be okay with, adjusting the list I'd initially made.

The intense practice we've been doing… She's rather adept at both Seeking the Path and the Eye of Oblivion now, along with her extensive abuse of Tides to make herself more graceful… Her pupils are  _ just _ starting to expand more than they should. They probably won't overtake her irises completely until after she gives birth, and it'll be years before her eyes fully blacken, but the process has begun. "At least I already know you're fine with black eyes. I can just ask Thalia." She quips.

"There is that. I'm going to miss that brilliant green though."

* * *

  
**Segmentum Obscurus**  
**Koronus Sector**  
**Koronus Passage**  
**The Temple**  
**Heavy Transport - Writ of Surplus**  
**9.420.736M41**  
**Scheduled Warp Dive 9.423.736M41**  
"Tristain! Tristain!" The excited squeal rather interrupts my study of the master charts for the route we're planning on taking into Winterscale's Realm once we're out of the passage. The last time I was in there was before 'Cella and I had charts of our own, so I'm just copying down the details known to the family at large. We can add our own notes later as we make the passage, as we live our lives along the warp-lanes.

Looking up from my work, I find her excitedly hurrying toward me, one hand pressed against the side of her belly. "Yes?" Turning fully away, I extend my arms for a hug, presuming she'll accept it once she gets in range. Instead she grabs my extended hand and presses it to her belly, pressing in with her hands until mine sinks in a bit. There's a pregnant pause and then she looks down.

"You little snot!  _ Now _ you calm down." Turning her head back up to look me in the eyes, she pouts deeply, lip protruding.

"I'll take your word for it." I inform her, pulling her into the interrupted hug.

"But I wanted you to  _ feel _ ." She grumps. "Hmmph."

"I am  _ quite _ certain I'll have other chances. Both with her and with all the rest." Nuzzling her hair, I add. "You can just have the first kick all to yourself, it's fine. I'm sure you'll be complaining about the mid-third-shift bladder kicks before long."

"Oh shut up."

"Yes dear."

* * *

  
**Segmentum Obscurus**  
**Koronus Sector**  
**Koronus Passage**  
**The Warp**  
**Heavy Transport - Writ of Surplus**  
**9.433.736M41**  
**Est. Arrival at The Hermitage 9.471.736M41**  
"I am ##quite sorry about the discomfort milady." Eta assures us, while still applying pressure to 'Cella's bladder all the same. The order to 'hold still' for Eta has her glaring daggers at me over the inability to  _ squirm _ , but the images we're getting now are far better than what we got at earlier ultrasounds.

"EEP!" She can't jolt to go along with the squeak, but we can all  _ see _ the cause. Our tiny daughter just planted her foot on that exceedingly full bladder and appears to be actively pushing it away, as though irritated by the intrusion on her already claustrophobic environment. There's even a tiny little flare of warplight against Marcella's belly, though that's something only the two of us can see. Eta is quite in the dark about that part of things, but to us it's an  _ excellent _ sign…

Well, except that Marcella has to actually  _ deal _ with having an occasionally-glaring warp eye in her womb. Even for a female navigator that's apparently uncomfortable, though it would outright  _ kill _ a non-navigator. Reaching out with my will, I suppress the micro-currents in the warp that lie beneath the reality of the gellar field, pressing back the storm just a little and providing 'Cella a bit of relief as our daughter's eye calms with it.

The bladder-crushing ultrasound is still an issue for another ten minutes, but being able to  _ see _ her baby seems to be worth it, at least for a while.

  
  


  
**Segmentum Obscurus**  
**Koronus Sector**  
**Koronus Passage**  
**The Hermitage**  
**Heavy Transport - Writ of Surplus**  
**9.471.736M41**  
**Scheduled Warp Dive 9.495.736M41**

  
  


The Hermitage; the only waystation in the passage that's actually inhabited. By complete  _ nutjobs _ , but inhabited nonetheless. You can't see it from out at the edge of the Mandeville envelope… Well, maybe 'Cella can. But the cluster of asteroids that provides the warp interference that forces an exit also carries an ancient monastary. It's broken and crumbled now, the massive gellar generators that once protected the entire structure barely functional to protect a few crumbling ruins. And yet a few people do still make it their home, by choice or by force, eking out a living by providing a few limited services to passing ships. Footfall may get the rep as the trading station closest to the Passage, but the Hermitage is actually  _ in _ the Passage… most of the time.

Every few centuries they get a precious year or two of reprieve, and their protections can be taken offline for proper maintenance… If someone cares to lay out the cash to have it done. I think Calligos's grandfather was the last to do it.

It also has the honor of Captain Thorne deciding to approach the dock for a couple days, pulling up alongside the open arches of stone so that the existing repairs can be checked over more thoroughly. Not by the locals of course, simply a place where we have the relative safety of watchful eyes and limited lines of approach. Even pirates leave this place alone, the number of psykers who make their way here makes it just  _ not worth _ it to try to rob them. Putting an unsanctioned psyker's back to the wall if you're  _ not _ a null is usually a bad idea.

…

…

It's…  _ strange _ having stone under my boots. One life remembers it clearly, lived an entire life on ancient Terra, hiked up mountains and toured caves that descended into the bedrock. This life however, has been lived almost entirely aboard ships. Like most Navigators who haven't grown too mutated to function, the warp is  _ home _ . For all its horror and terror, for all the dangers of the realm, we are born to it like a bird is born to the sky.

Stomping on the ancient stone, I feel the jarring impact travel up my joints without rattling the floor at all. Even where we have granite tiling in our quarters there's just the slightest bit of a hollow feel, the stone only a couple centimeters deep before giving way to the structure of the ship. Stomping on the enormous spars that form the skeleton of the ship is the closest I can usually come to the immovability of stone like this, and those are  _ always _ humming with the thrum of the reactor.

"Hehehe- Sorry Sir." Lucy doesn't  _ sound _ sorry. At all.

"I suppose you've done some ground-pounding haven't you?"

"Yessir."

"I  _ do _ know you're ticklish."

"Eep Sir." Ok,  _ now _ she's sassing me. I'll have to deal with that later. For now I turn to head down the long gallery of open arches, the weight of my armored vac-suit slowing me a little. I want to actually  _ see _ the extent of the damages from the outside, see what damage I couldn't stop. I've already seen it from within, but that doesn't really convey the same sense of scale.

…

...

"Wheew." Lucy again, the first to break our silence as we approach the work site. From the outside we can actually see the scale of the hole, a crater a hundred meters across, with rippled and torn plating extending that far again. Plasma torpedoes really don't mess around… when they hit at all.

"That's a big hole." Jezmine agrees. "Good thing it hit empty quarters."

"There's a reason I let  _ that _ one through instead of the others." I point out. "We couldn't get them all, so I did the best I could."

"Well, good job on that sir."

With the chance to set up actual anchors for their equipment, the ship's mechanicus contingent have manage to construct a veritable spiderweb of cabling between the ship and the Hermitage. Tech-priests, menials, and servitors alike are moving back and forth, inspecting welds and making new ones, the last few patches necessary to restore atmosphere to the last of the barracks, and let some of the crew who lived in that section return home. Many of the quarters are simply  _ gone _ , but most were empty at the time. It's why I let  _ that _ one through when I had to choose.

I spend a while just watching, kind of wishing 'Cella was at my side, but she's slowed by her belly at this point, and tired much of the time, so if one of the hermits did something dumb she'd be difficult to get to safety.

"That's close enough." One of my guards calls out to someone. Turning around I find one of the hermits, risking the mostly functional atmosphere fields keeping this section breathable without his suit.

"When are you? You're never here but here you stand. When did you leave?"

"Speak plainly."

"I see you but I don't see you, only from the corner of my eye, when I try to  _ look _ you're not here, none of you. You weren't here and you won't be here, but each moment you're still here."

He's close enough to be  _ just _ inside my reach, so I lean hard on the Immaterium, flattening it in the immediate vicinity. The mad seer staggers and shakes his head, then falls to his knees and holds his head in his hands,  _ Screaming _ . His eyes start burning with a rainbow fire, cracks forming along his weathered skin to let out similar light.

My eyes widen at the reaction, since that's  _ not _ how psykers react, not if they're still themselves. I hurriedly draw my hellpistol just in case, and open my Warp Eye to stare through him, finding flashes of rainbow vomit over blue and gold. "Fuck!" I haven't practiced these two techniques together as much as Seek the Path and Eye of Oblivion, but as long as I can- *BA-BLAM!!!* -hold it long enough for  _ that _ .

Jezmine's bolt round obliterates the head of the possessed psyker, and I continue holding it in place with my gaze as it dissipates, regretting that I lack the mastery necessary to  _ truly _ destroy daemon possessing him. It'll reform in a few years, and it'll  _ remember _ this meeting. "Hopefully that doesn't bite us  _ too _ badly later."

"Bet you a week's pay someone notices when it misses a report."

"No way to check, but you might be right." I think about the prospect for a bit. "It might have been here to watch the traffic, find out about who's  _ inside _ the ships going through since its fellows can only watch from the outside. Footfall and Wander are possible to bypass... Nice reaction Jezmine, well done." Flicking the mental switch for the vox in my vac-suit, I raise the Major of security.

"Yes Milord?"

"Major, get a team out here with flamers  _ now _ . I have the corpse of a possessed psyker to dispose of."

There's the muffled sound of him yelling at someone, and then he comes back on. "Any insight into what kind?"

"Blue and gold."

"Aww hell." As much as some would prefer to keep such knowledge suppressed, starship security forces kind of need to know at least  _ vaguely _ what they're dealing with. Not the details that corrupt with mere knowledge, but simple things like 'blue-and-gold-with-rainbow-vomit means sneaky fucks' or 'red-and-brass will stab you in the face'.

"It's been forcibly dissipated, so we'll be well clear of  _ here _ before it can make a report."

"Oh, well done. I'll be there shortly with my team." With that he cuts the connection.

…

…

The perimeter guards get a verbal lashing, up one side and down the other, for letting the psyker through like they did. At least, until Thalia pokes around and discovers his tracks in their minds. That's when they get turned over to the ship's ministorum contingent, for prayer and further castigation. They're  _ not _ going to have a fun few weeks.

Jezmine, meanwhile, is going to have a  _ very _ fun few weeks, as Marcella and I reward her reactions.

  
**Segmentum Obscurus**  
**Koronus Sector**  
**Koronus Passage**  
**The Hermitage**  
**Heavy Transport - Writ of Surplus**  
**9.472.736M41**  
**Scheduled Warp Dive 9.495.736M41**  
"We can't let this go unpunished, but we don't have the capacity at the moment to prosecute a purge." The captain nearly throws a data-slate down on the conference table. "We already have barely enough escorts, that's been demonstrated well enough, but if we don't leave some here to hunt down any other traitors… they're going to be a bigger problem later."

"We can send a message back with another ship, I'm sure the Calixian Inquisition would be eager to root them out… eventually." The Major shrugs and leans back in his seat. "I have a few- Well, Lord Tristain has a few squads of armsmen with those fancy collars 'et protect them from th' Warp. It'll be ugly but If you can give me a few weeks, a thousand armsmen, and those ladies to act as spearhead, we can clean them out."

"Unfortunately our cargo  _ does _ need to get through."

"Welp, can you send a ship  _ back _ for us?"

"There's another Winterscale ship coming through in a hundred fractions, if you can last that long, but I can certainly make the request."

"You're going to need someone who can ferret out daemons and traitors!" Gizhaum Demetris, ship's minister, joins the conversation. I've had little interaction with him directly, save listening to his impassioned fire over the loudhailers every tenday. "Someone with sufficient purity of faith. I believe one of my subordinates was able to provide viable blessings when we were recovering from that pirate attack, ah..." He pulls out his data slate and I roll my eyes. He's a good preacher, but  _ terrible _ with people's names.

"Suzette, I think." I speak up. "Her invocation of His blessing wasn't as strong as Elodia's, but she can provide it to more people since it doesn't require her continued focus." I shrug. "She's also not a psyker, so getting even that much from faith alone is impressive."

"Would it be enough? Do you think?" The Captain asks.

"Throne no." Silvea again. "Not  _ as she is _ ."

"Nonsense! Faith enough can overcome all… Weapons and armor merely ease the burden."

I give Silvea a flat look as everyone turns to me, then sweep it across to Gizhaum, easing up on the glare as I do. "Yes, keeping the passage open is worth a hefty price-" I glance at the Captain "-but I don't think she counts as a petty officer or enlisted."

"I'll waive it." She presses a control embedded into the edge of the table at her seat, and one of her aides hurries in.

"Aye Captain."

"Fetch Preacher Suzette Lauby."

"Aye Captain."

* * *

  
**Segmentum Obscurus**  
**Koronus Sector**  
**Koronus Passage**  
**The Hermitage**  
**Heavy Transport - Writ of Surplus**  
**9.474.736M41**  
**Scheduled Warp Dive 9.498.736M41**  
"Eta, Elodia, and I have been trying to find an… appropriate inscription for these devices." The gleaming black necklace box is a new addition, something Eta cooked up to add some pomp. The lid is inscribed with a gilded Aquila, wings outstretched. Holding it up before Suzette, with the already collared armswomen in attendance at the fore, and the rest of the impromptu expeditionary force behind them, I leave it closed for the moment while I speak. "A number of you volunteered before we fully understood them, and to be honest, there is still much we do not know. But they offer protection from the Great Enemy, restore youth where it's lacking, and invigorate the body to the very limits of the Human Form.

"When asked if you were willing, you leapt at the chance to do His work, Suzette of the Adeptus Ministorum. Your purity of Faith called you to the notice of your superiors, and even in the face of possible damnation you are unbowed. Above and beyond merely assisting in the Mechanicus' Quest for Knowledge, you are prepared to walk with your head high, into dark places where the daemon is already known to live." Sure, all the pomp might not be necessary, but  _ especially _ coming from me the collared find it Inspiring. Opening the box, I let her see the inscription.

**To your eternal good health.  
**

Stand strong against the Emperor's Foes,

whoever and wherever they may be,

unyielding and unfaltering,

** for all time.**

She smiles, and I turn it around and hand it to her. Once she's holding the box, I lift the choker out and open the clasp, reaching forward to wrap it around her throat and close the catch. As I do I focus on the idea that I  _ want _ her to remain visible to Him on Terra, and while there's a brief flash of something in her eyes, the fire returns to them almost immediately and with sufficient intensity to be a perceptible force. "Now go, carry His Light with this expedition. Purge the taint of the Enemy from this place and make it a safe refuge once more. Stand strong against the temptations, blandishments, and coercion they will undoubtedly bring, now and forever."

With that the little expedition turns to depart the ship, well supplied for their expected stay, even  _ over _ supplied in case of disaster, or to use for paying informants. As I watch them leave I grasp my pendant to make the usual changes, only to find Eta beat me to it.

Checking over on the other side of her nude portrait, on the sheet I still can't manage to edit or even mostly  _ read _ , I find that a few traits have shown up for my newest acquisition. Her purity of faith is strong enough to rate specific mention there, along with spreading the protection to others. The golden letters provide little detail other than confirmation of what I already knew, and I just have to hope that the talent' coming from the collar will amp that up further as she goes.

Suzette isn't the only Ministorum Priest accompanying the expedition, two others are going along with them who also have all the fire and brimstone you could ask for, zealots eager to seek and destroy the heretic, the traitor and the daemonic. One of them might have gotten the collar instead, but we don't have time for Eta to babysit their conversion before we have to  _ leave _ , so the 'burden' falls to Suzette.

* * *

  
**Segmentum Obscurus**  
**Koronus Sector**  
**Koronus Passage**  
**The Hermitage**  
**Heavy Transport - Writ of Surplus**  
**9.498.736M41**  
**Scheduled Warp Dive 9.498.736M41**  
Reports over the vox on our way out-system are equal parts reassuring and horrifying. They quickly resorted to having one of the collared shock troops take the first peek into any room, after losing 'merely' a dozen men to mental contamination. Blessed Promethium hot enough to splinter stone has been employed to scour foul engravings from the walls in a number of places.

The locals are  _ profoundly _ happy or unhappy with their presence by turns, the news of an unrecognized possession within their ranks bringing some into the fold while others scoff and declare it a mere fabrication, an excuse to initiate a cleansing. For them, in some respects, it may as well be true. Their lives are forfeit with that rejection, as the expedition cannot afford to leave them be.

The sudden torrent of terrified gibbering screams on the vox as we near the mandeville point can only be a bad sign, but there's little we can do from here.

And as we cross into the Warp, the first of the names appears in the 'Available for Resurrection' list. Lothar Bringas, not a name I recognize, and not on the face of it a woman's name. Looking at her entry in the menu I find someone built rather like brick wall, one of the frontliners with their heavy shield and chainsword. She must be- must have  _ been _ one of Eta's captures. Her current status shows a face melted entirely off, not mutated as might have been prevented by the collar, but melted as if by acid, drooping like a candle in the sun, blistered and boiled.

A day later two more names join her on the list, likewise front-liners, as the infestation is burned out. For all that the Hermitage is a 'small' station, it's still more populous than our little convoy, and not a soul aboard could be considered 'easy prey'.

  
  


  
**Segmentum Obscurus**  
**Koronus Sector**  
**Koronus Passage**  
**The Warp**  
**Heavy Transport - Writ of Surplus**  
**9.499.736M41**  
**Est. Arrival at Footfall 9.546.736M41**  
It's mere hours after we re-enter the warp again, for the final leg of the Passage, when there's the slight buzz of a new capture. One 'Janice Kultone' donning the collar previously belonging to a shock-trooper who fell in their assault on The Hermitage. Eta's presence within the system is visible as the sliders relevant to combat performance all abruptly shift to match her template, her studies having found at least a  _ local _ maxima for the purpose of rapid improvement.

Checking the resurrection menu out of curiosity, I find Lothar's name greyed out.

  
**Fernanda Cotant** [Resurrect]

Lothar Bringas [ ~~Resurrect~~ ] Collar in use

  
**Martinez** [Resurrect]

"I guess that answers that question." I mutter, a little disappointed. It's not like I can afford to use that functionality at the moment regardless, but it does cut off certain avenues while confirming the viability of others. If Lothar's soul is still held in that collar, then it confirms they  _ can _ be brought to Terra… someday.

Janice might be the first to pick up a fallen collar, but I have no illusions she'll be the last. Gazing out the spire's window into the roiling warp around the ship, I continue rubbing my thumb over my pendant, both the warp and the collar's controls visible to me, not so much overlaid as just both in view. The slow progress of the current values for 'Janice' is still faster than I've seen before with that setting, but, well... Warp time fuckery. The other fallen collars are likewise soon picked up, also going to armswomen from the force that went with them, I guess the pace of conversion is still major factor in a hotzone.

"I'm sure they'll win." Marcella snuggles up under my arm, and I glance down at her slightly forced smile.

"Of course they will, but at what cost?" Looking back out the window, I spot an opportunity and tap 'Cella's shoulder as I focus my attention. I don't need to look to see the vicious smile she's wearing as we pin a lesser daemon in place for the gellar field to splat like a bug. It's been a while since we could play this game. While the discoveries at the Hermitage were, and are, disturbing, at least the repairs  _ did _ get properly checked over and declared solid. As a result, our 'practice' at pinning warp predators in place is once again able to proceed.

For the most part it's not daemons we catch, the lesser predators being both far more common, and far less leery of getting too close. Cannibalism runs rampant when we manage to catch one, guaranteeing the kill even if it might have had a chance.

* * *

  
**Segmentum Obscurus**  
**Koronus Sector**  
**Koronus Passage**  
**The Warp**  
**Heavy Transport - Writ of Surplus**  
**9.501.736M41**  
**Est. Arrival at Footfall 9.546.736M41**  
"What the-" Holding the  _ pair _ of collars in my hand, I stare at them dumbly for a few minutes, until Marcella wakes up and asks what I'm doing.

" _ These _ were under my pillow." Clenching my hand, I wave them a bit. "Both of them. What is going on? What chan...ged." I laugh and shake my head as a possible explanation hits me. "That damned Hermitage. We have collars  _ in the materium _ now. What do you want to bet the time-slip is two to one right now?"

"Nothing."

"You don't want to make a bet like Harley?"

"To what end?" She snuggles against me. "You already force me to climax more often than she does when she's winning. I have no need for more." Reaching out, she grabs one of the chokers in my hand, taking it when I loosen my grip. "If it is it's both good and bad. No deliberately finding favorable time-slips to stock up, but bad slips won't lose out."

"I'm pretty sure I wouldn't want to mess with deliberate time-slips  _ anyway _ 'Cella." I shake my head. "That way lies madness."

"Even with the collars?"

"...Huh. I hadn't considered that. Maybe not, but we'd need to collar an  _ entire crew _ ."

"Good point."

* * *

  
**Segmentum Obscurus**  
**Koronus Sector**  
**Koronus Passage**  
**The Warp**  
**Heavy Transport - Writ of Surplus**  
**9.535.736M41**  
**Est. Arrival at Footfall 9.546.736M41**  
"It's been two days since one of the collared spent it on that damned Hermitage- Well,  _ less _ damned now I suppose." My fingers are lightly playing with Elodia's left breast while she lays between Marcella and myself. The two of us just finished 'helping' her relieve some pressure, and she's blissed out, smiling peacefully and letting her own hands wander as well. We're coming up on two weeks in the warp, and if the collars are a valid indicator we're slipping about one to two, so that's a month-long campaign for them.

"Think the Stoic Burden picked them up already?"

"Maybe, or maybe they managed to finish the purge. I'm not sure what else would have them still alive, but not continuing to lose people." Indeed, most of the collars have changed necks at least once, and one of them has seven souls hanging off of it now, with an eighth currently wearing it around their neck. The collars are amazing devices, but for all that they can keep chaos from mutating a wearer, they do jack all against firearms. Aside from allowing their beneficiaries to carry a  _ lot _ more armor anyway. The armory was unable to provide double-thick carapace in time to deploy them, but fifty mils of plasteel plate, a meter wide and two high, makes for a  _ very _ strong tower shield. It's even an already-approved design, normally for combat servitors.

"That is  _ wonderful _ news milord." Elodia speaks up. Our access to her teats is rather hindered when she pulls herself into a sitting position, then sweeps her legs around beneath her. "Which way is He?" There's no real question as to who she means, so I point toward the Astronomicon and she scoots around to face that way before offering prayers of thanks for the apparent victory, and for the protection of those souls lost to the storms.

Pulling myself up, I join her in prayer. Even with the collared taking point, absorbing the brunt of the fighting, I can't imagine that the hundred or so of them lost in battle were even the majority of the losses with a thousand-strong expedition. Their foes would have realized where the softer targets were found, almost certainly.

As 'Cella joins us as well, Elodia's power turns our lushly-appointed bedroom into an echoing cathedral. The effect lends a gravitas to our words that is all out of line with our state of undress, but it's not like The Emperor can't just see through any clothes we might wear anway.

In all honesty, I rather hope that the collars  _ can't _ block his scrying anymore, as allies are apparently exempt from that protection in the present. The future is more strictly protected, but that's honestly  _ just as well _ .

* * *

  
**Segmentum Obscurus**  
**Koronus Sector**  
**Koronus Expanse**  
**Furibundus**  
**Heavy Transport - Writ of Surplus**  
**9.535.736M41**  
**Warp Timeslip Correction: +274**  
**7.809.736M41**  
From the Mandeville point Furibundus is an awe-inspiring sight. The colossal star throwing off great ribbons of plasma that cool as they fly out-system, lit from within by the violend throes of their parent star. Like some abstract painting, where the artist merely dipped their brush in all the colors of stellar violence and strew it across the canvas of the heavens with a single wandering stroke. Footfall isn't visible from here, but the shadow of Altar-Templum-Calixis-Ext-17 is visible in the holes it's left in that great ribbon. The molten ball of stone orbiting very near its roche limit carves swaths and punches holes in those ribbons as they form, here and there depending on the alignment of its orbit at the time.

"Pretty isn't it?"

"Yes." 'Cella agrees simply. The spire remains exposed for now, the windows un-shuttered to let us look out upon the stellar system spread before us. With as many eyes as there are in this system, it's paradoxically safe despite being a hive of scum. Everyone knows that everyone knows that everything that happens gets reported to every Rogue Trader in the Expanse post-haste.

No pirate would dare attack Footfall, lest everyone in the Expanse set aside their differences as one to teach them the error of their ways. Rumor has it that even Corsairs can fly through with impunity so long as they keep their weapons un-powered.

I offer a prayer when it occurs to me that this makes Footfall an even  _ more _ attractive target for Orks. It hasn't happened yet, and I pray it  _ stays that way _ .

  
  


  
**Segmentum Obscurus**  
**Koronus Sector**  
**Koronus Expanse**  
**Furibundus**  
**Heavy Transport - Writ of Surplus**  
**7.815.736M41**  
"Medicae Eta's little side trip will have to wait." bit of an odd greeting from the Captain. As I walk closer to where she's sitting on the command throne, she holds up a data slate. Accepting it wordlessly, I look down and grimace when I read it.

  
**Owing to unforeseen losses in the cargo fleet, Writ of Surplus will proceed directly to Lucian's Breath under heavy escort. Rendezvous at rally point Lucian seven six nine.**  
**Choir Prime**  
**Emperor's Vow**  
**7.814.736M41**

"Well that's unfortunate." Sigh… "I wonder who we lost?"

"I presume we will learn that at the rally point." Thorne answers, frowning heavily. "One of the four ships scheduled to carry our cargo on seems likely, but those could have been reassigned to cover losses elsewhere."

I hand the slate back, then head over to the in-system plotting table where the old Voidmaster is already figuring the best course. Just diving back in right now is theoretically doable, but would  _ definitely _ be exceptionally hard on the ship. Instead we're left with the somewhat fuel-intensive prospect of burning back out-system under full thrust, after already having spent several days at full combat thrust back at the Witch-Cursed system. The course he's already plotted is uncharacteristically free of any gravity assists, the other worlds of the system out of position for such shenanigans. "No cost savings this time young lord."

"I can see that." Looking it over, I don't really have any questions about the plotted path. Full-burn minimum-time trajectories are among the simplest things to calculate out in open space, and there's really nothing to take advantage of along the way. "Hundred thrones says Chorda's behind it, the lost ship and the attack in the Passage."

"You see her everywhere, but I'm not taking that bet, it  _ is _ her style."

"Not everywhere, just when 'pirates' are too well equipped." Gazing down at the table without really seeing it, I ponder the Mechanicus temple way down at the bottom of that gravity well. I have no doubt Eta could have gotten what she wants out of them, had she had the chance, but now that's delayed by quite some time. "Been an interesting trip, hasn't it?"

"Not over yet."

* * *

  
**Segmentum Obscurus**  
**Koronus Sector**  
**Koronus Expanse**  
**Furibundus**  
**Heavy Transport - Writ of Surplus**  
**7.824.736M41**  
"Hoooo boy." As the klaxon sounds and the loudhailer counts down the seconds, I turn my head to look at 'Cella with a grin, the hookup cable from the Throne dragging across my back when I do. She smiles back and winks, then turns to look out the windows again. I wrap my hands around the controls and open my Eye, prodding the Machine Spirit as the countdown hits zero. It surges to the fore as the moment of entry hits, the ship riding alongside my mind as we tear open the Materium to dive through. Now that we're out of the storm the lumbering beast is much more congenial to my touch, no longer relying quite so heavily on Silvea or Graig for mere survival.

As the Writ plunges into the Empyrean, I look around carefully, searching out-  _ there _ . Heading established against the ever-shifting currents of the Warp, I flex the warp vanes to bring us around and pull up just a little toward the galactic north. "Astronomicon clear, course set."

"Well done." Graig acknowledges, looking out at the golden glimmer in the vast distance, then down at my instruments. "I'll see you at the end of the shift." With that he turns and slithers down the staircase to the bridge.

"Wait, what?" Exchanging a look with 'Cella, I whimper a bit, and then turn my focus back to maintaining course, the sweat already starting to roll down my skin at being thrown to the wolves like this.  _ Warn a guy _ before their first solo shift! Adrenaline coursing through me as I try to calm down, I remind myself that we're  _ out _ of The Passage, there's no storm  _ here _ . The warp is hardly calm, it never is in the Expanse, but it's calmer by far than what we've been dealing with for weeks.

Marcella leans in and stands on her toes to kiss the top of my shoulder, the best she can do without obstructing my view for the moment. "You can do it."

"Right… Right."

…

…

…

"Were you- waiting down here the whole time?" I ask when I find him down on the bridge at the end of the shift, after having been relieved by Silvea.

"No, only most of it." He laughs. "You did good. Remember, you never know when you might need to navigate solo on short notice. Now, let's go eat, and I'm certain Marcella could use a nap." as he slithers toward the exit, I follow with a narrow glare. The laughter of my guards doesn't help when they spot my expression, so I make a mental note to get a little payback… nothing serious, just appropriate to the indignity.

"You  _ knew _ ." I accuse as they fall in step.

"Far be it from us to interfere with an instructor's surprise examination, Sir."

…

…

By the time we reach our quarters, I'm significantly less grumpy about the surprise test. Yes, it was a bit harsh, but I passed with flying colors, and I should be proud of that. Now if only I could shake the feeling that another boot is about to drop…

Setting the thought aside, I sit down at the table with Graig and Marcella, famished despite the nutrient feed from the Navigator's Throne. For all that it can keep you going, it doesn't actually fill your belly, and mine is rumbling. The smell of quail wafts from under the closhes when they're pulled away, and the citrusy tang of one fruit or another pairs quite well with the crispy glazed skin of the former bird beneath. Cutting in, I take a moment to appreciate the way the skin shatters like glass, some starchy glaze having been utilized to improve the results.

"I'm glad these things freeze so well." The skin is so crisp it shatters, while the mildly gamey flesh pairs quite well with whichever fruit was used to get that citrusy tang. Whatever it is seems to have been preserved as a marmalade of sorts, quite heavy on the rind to sugar ratio, and making excellent seasoning now.

"Oh yes." Graig agrees. "Can you just imagine if a flock escaped aboard ship?"

Chuckling, I meet Marcella's eyes. "Could turn out well, as long as they weren't carrying grain."

* * *

  
**Segmentum Obscurus**  
**Koronus Sector**  
**Koronus Expanse**  
**Furibundus**  
**Heavy Transport - Writ of Surplus**  
**7.826.736M41**  
As I'm laying in bed with Marcella, just starting to nod off, the 'other boot' drops. My pendant buzzes against my chest, and I sleepily reach up to grasp it and check who just joined the collared.

Silvea Cassini

"...Aww hell."

"Hmm?" 'Cella asks sleepily.

"She said she'd wait  _ until I was qualified for solo _ ."

"Oh noooooo…"

  
  


  
**Segmentum Obscurus**  
**Koronus Sector**  
**Koronus Expanse**  
**Furibundus**  
**Heavy Transport - Writ of Surplus**  
**7.827.736M41**  
"Good morning!" The  _ far _ too cheerful voice cuts through the dining room, making me cringe a bit. 'Cella groans as well, knowing that nothing good can come of Silvea sounding  _ that _ cheerful in our general direction. When I look over, I find her smiling broadly, teeth perhaps a little better aligned already. There's some sort of machine resting on her shoulder and attached to the connector in the back of her neck. Looking at  _ it _ specifically to avoid looking directly at her face for the moment, I realize it's Eta's recording unit. "Well, have a seat."

"I'm surprised Eta let you out of the infirmary so quickly." That seems like a neutral enough response. Pulling out a chair for 'Cella, I push it back in under her before taking my own seat. "Suzette was an emergency, but everyone else has been stuck in observation."

"Oh, but I insisted." The humor in her words is  _ not _ promising. "She provided this watcher when I argued for observing the mental effects as they happen." -Uhhh… "You  _ do _ look much better than yesterday already." and there it is. Dammit.

'Cella groans along with me. "Aunty,  _ please _ ." she complains.

"Oh come now, his seed is the best our family has had in centuries." She pauses, and when I glance over she's smiling toothily, eyes fixed on a line that squarely passes through the table in front of me. "What few flaws he had before the collars are gone. It would be negligent of me to seek anyone else once I'm fertile again."

"We're  _ not _ inviting you." 'Cella declares vehemently.

"Disappointing, but I'm sure Eta can provide alternate means." The fresh berries from the aquaponics bay are strangely bland this morning. "As the collars are disseminated to the rest of the family we'll have to use that method regardless. Personal insemination visits would be impractical with the family split across fifty vessels." She waits just long enough for us to react, then adds "As enjoyable as you'd find that."

I'm about to retort when Marcella whimpers, turning bright red, and Silvea starts laughing. Resting one elbow on the table next to my plate, I rest my closed third eye in the center of my palm. "Oh relax Marcella. If some other pair raised the two of you, you'd be positively  _ eager _ to invite me… You come by it honestly, my dear sister was-."

"Please  _ don't _ ." My exceedingly embarrassed wife pleads, and I wrap an arm around her protectively. Not that my  _ arm _ can do much against verbal teasing, but it makes her feel better. Silvea laughs and returns to her breakfast, apparently satisfied for the moment. It is  _ so _ tempting to just hit her with an order to stop, but she might actually explode from holding it in for any length of time.

...

As we're finishing up, she adds just a  _ bit _ of stress to my day. "Tristain, you're on primary rotation until my changes are complete. Just in case."

Sigh. "Yes aunty."

* * *

  
**Segmentum Obscurus**  
**Koronus Sector**  
**Koronus Expanse**  
**Furibundus**  
**Heavy Transport - Writ of Surplus**  
**7.833.736M41**  
**Est. Arrival at Rally Point 9.877.736M41**  
Even after only a couple of days Silvea's changes have been  _ substantial _ . Her teeth have already rotated out once, leaving her rather snaggle-toothed for a few hours, but the newest set in the back are more triangular instead of long needles, shorter cutting teeth instead of the long catching teeth. It's kind of strange to see, with the wider teeth showing through the gaps between what are now the front two rows. I've never seen either animal in this life, but the other life I remember makes the comparison between an anglerfish with overcrowding and a shark. Still unnerving, but  _ less _ … Or they will be once the rows cycle a couple more times.

It's not  _ just _ her dentiture that's improving either, I've managed to avoid catching her in the bath, but she's been wearing new robes, her seamstress working overtime to re-do half her wardrobe in ways that make it  _ exceedingly _ obvious something's changed with the sides of her torso. Instead of  _ hiding _ her figure, they're now trying to  _ flatter _ it, and she's made a point of standing where I can see her while navigating the ship.

Marcella's possessive snuggling against my side in response is quite endearing, though it's also distracting. Something we can only afford since we're out of the storms.

* * *

  
**Segmentum Obscurus**  
**Koronus Sector**  
**Koronus Expanse**  
**Furibundus**  
**Heavy Transport - Writ of Surplus**  
**7.839.736M41**  
**Est. Arrival at Rally Point 9.877.736M41**  
"Boy… Tristan." I pause at his tone, gesturing for 'Cella to go ahead while I see what he wants. It's the end of my shift at the throne, and we were just on our way out when Graig called me back, already hooked into the throne and taking the controls. As I turn back to face him, the door to the spire closes and locks, the armored panel intended to protect the navigator in the event of boarding actions sealing with a bit of a squelching sound that indicates even the environmental controls switching over.

"Uncle?"

"Silvea."

"Ohhhh…" I grimace. "You know that wasn't my- I mean, I'm all for protecting her from getting eaten after death, but-"

"I know." He says simply. "She's a headstrong woman, always has been. I wouldn't change that if I could." He sighs. "Of course, now that she's wearing that collar there's certain  _ changes _ happening. If it were just the physical… But it's not. You know I've been…  _ incapable _ for a number of years now. Longer than you've been alive."

"Uh…"

"Just- just let me speak. There are any number of means to satisfy a woman, even if the flesh is weak, or absent." He gestures down at the enormous tail that he's had in place of legs longer than I've been alive. "Unfortunately it's gotten more difficult in the past few days. We've tried while you had the throne, but she doesn't  _ respond _ to my touch the same way anymore. I know it's not what you wanted, it's not what I wanted either, but even more I don't want her left unsatisfied for the rest of her life. Particularly as she's been getting  _ younger _ with that device."

"Ah… Well this might just be the most awkward conversation I've  _ ever _ had." He laughs awkwardly in response, and I can't help joining him a bit.

"For once I find myself unable to point to your inexperience as a reason for that." He chuckles. "I'm certain Silvea is going to top it handily in the near future, she's not the type to give up."

"Navigators who give up tend to die."

"Even for us she's strong willed." There's an awkward silence for a while, then he continues. "What I'm trying to say is, please don't turn her away forever. If she can't be satisfied with me, you're a better choice than most."

"That's going to depend on Marcella too. I made a promise, my seed for the house, my bed for her."

* * *

  
**Segmentum Obscurus**  
**Koronus Sector**  
**Koronus Expanse**  
**Furibundus**  
**Heavy Transport - Writ of Surplus**  
**7.843.736M41**  
**Est. Arrival at Rally Point 9.877.736M41**  
"Ohhhh…" Opening my eyes, I find that our efforts to avoid Silvea's baths have finally been thwarted. I only catch a glimpse before closing them again, but I have to admit… She's looking a  _ lot _ better. Where before even the skin she's supposed to have was saggy beneath the robes, now it's tight and wrinkle free. The flaps between her arms and legs appear to be pulled in tight against her sides somehow.

"Must you?" Marcella asks.

"Consider yourself lucky I've been as restrained as I have." Silvea answers. "While I still love my husband, it's yours I desire." She pauses. "Your guards are also appealing, which is an interesting change. In eighty years I'd never looked at women like that, but now…" That toothy smile again. "Eta's prodding is much more enjoyable now."

"That's a known effect."

"Then after this leg of our journey perhaps Graig should receive one as well. Then I wouldn't be torn between love and lust."

"Would the two of you leave us alone?"

"Throne no! You're still far too much fun." 'Cella groans and sinks beneath the water, pressing into my side as she hides. Shifting my arm, I wrap it around her with my hand splayed across her belly, getting a slight kick for my trouble.  _ That _ brings a silly grin to my face that overrides any teasing from Silvea. At least for a little while. Eventually though, I take pity on her and decide she needs to know. If nothing else, even with all the teasing, I still value her advice.

Prodding 'Cella back up to the surface, I give her a significant look when she gives me a questioning one. "I think she needs to know." Her lips twist a bit, but then she nods. "Come a bit closer…"

Silvea's smile nearly splits her face, rather disturbing given the remaining needle teeth, and she pushes off the far side of the massive bath to glide toward us, smoothly flipping around to try to position herself on my left the way Marcella is on my right. "Gah!" She laughs and moves back half a meter or so.

"Yes?"

"You were right about there being something more to the collars. You  _ will _ keep this secret, it could cause far too much trouble if it got out-" Her eyes go wide and her jaw drops as I issue the usual set of commands. There's been a few minor changes at Eta's suggestion, mostly little things for clarity of intent.

"...By the Golden Throne…" Silvea whispers once I'm finished. "Our House, you're making a play for Novator."

"Nah, Solana can keep it for at least another century. The ones we  _ sell _ on the other hand… There's a reason we've started inscribing them with that phrase. It's an order from me in disguise. Immunity to precognition, combined with an inability to fall? One soldier like that could turn a battle against foes who don't  _ know _ they're blind, but a Planetary Governor? Or a Sector Admiral?" I smile broadly. "I'd rather issue as few orders as possible on the large scale. _ I'm _ predictable, even if not with precognition. Ten thousand influential men and women? With ten thousand different agendas, making a million decisions that ripple out across the Imperium. The plots of the eldar, the schemes of the great enemy, all tangled and snared by changes they can't see, changes that aren't  _ part of them _ ." I'm sure my smile is vicious, but it's nowhere near a match for hers. 

"I pray your plan works nephew, it's an enormous risk."

"Oh, I know. Incidentally, there's an experiment that needs performing, and I think you're the one to do it."

"Oh?"

"You will be as responsive to Uncle's touch as you ever were before. If he asks, tell him we figured out how to work around the limitations, but it's not practical for wide scale use." I smile. "It's even true."

  
  


  
**Segmentum Obscurus**  
**Koronus Sector**  
**Koronus Expanse**  
**Furibundus**  
**Heavy Transport - Writ of Surplus**  
**7.856.736M41**  
**Est. Arrival at Rally Point 9.877.736M41**  
With her teeth finally all rotated out, Silvea's smile is significantly neater. Everything lines up correctly now, even if her teeth are triangular blades instead of the long needles from before. What  _ hasn't _ changed is the expanded articulation of her jaw. Even with the long needles she could open wide enough to eat normally, but watching her yawn now… You could probably fit a fist in her mouth without getting scratched.

"Ahhh, excuse me." She apologizes facetiously, after covering her yawn with a hand wholly inadequate for the task. "While you have the throne today, Eta will be verifying my implants are all still correctly calibrated. Emperor willing, we will have three qualified Navigators aboard again, and your schedule can return to normal." She grins toothily. "I imagine the rest of your harem has been feeling neglected."

"Aunty-"

"For which they have my deepest sympathy." Her eyes wander down my body rather lasciviously, and she licks her lips. I just groan and rub my temples.

"Must you?"

"Oh yes." Despite being a good bit taller, I somehow feel like prey as she stalks closer, her movements carrying a liquid grace they lacked a few weeks ago. Propping herself up on her toes to whisper in my ear, with her body pressed up against me, she explains "Even with that order it's not the same, like pleasuring myself while we cuddle instead of a lover's touch. I  _ need _ more Tristain, I can't-" She pulls back with a sigh, looking down at Marcella's glare. My wife still allows herself to be pulled into a hug, but she grumps about it as she does. "Would you rather I borrow one of your harem?"

"Actually… can you make do until Graig gets one?" Reclaiming Marcella, I hold her tight, my grumpy treasure just getting all the hugs this morning whether she wants them or not. "I'd rather keep the two of you together instead of- Well, even if you do end up with my seed, I'd rather let Eta take care of  _ that _ . You understand?"

Silvea just smirks. "I  _ will _ get what I want one day."

"But not this one."

* * *

  
**Segmentum Obscurus**  
**Koronus Sector**  
**Koronus Expanse**  
**Furibundus**  
**Heavy Transport - Writ of Surplus**  
**7.857.736M41**  
**Est. Arrival at Rally Point 9.877.736M41**  
Carefully sighting down the range, for the first time in a couple weeks, I take a deep breath and let it out slowly as I open my third eye, focusing on the fate of the target and the path my las-beam will take- Resisting the urge to facepalm, I flip the safety off and take aim again- "What the?" Flipping the safety off  _ again _ , I hold it in place with my thumb while taking aim, paying careful attention to the little lever as I do. Sure enough, it tries to move back, but this time I can track the effect back to its source. Following the lines of distortion in the warp, I turn around and find Gabrielle giving me a cheerful little finger wave. "Cute. Well done. Now how far away can you do that?"

"Maybe fifteen meters without giving myself away, thirty-some if I don't care." She smiles. "I was working on precision to help with marksmanship. I can hit the las-pack releases too, but I don't know where that is on yours."

"Well, you just demonstrated it's combat-useful already, and added another skill to learn." I inform her with a grin. Her eyes light up at the confirmation that I agree it's worth a reward; literally light up, little sparks of psychic energy illuminating the glass orbs; and the prospect of another. "Wargear recognition. Get with Eta and the other tech-priests, learn the correct method to safe the various patterns of both Human and Xenos wargear." Reaching out, I ruffle her hair and grin when she leans into it. "You're going to be a pain in the  _ ass _ for my enemies as you get better."

"Yes milord… Umm-" When I take my hand away she steps up next to me in the booth and raises her arm, sighting down it at the target plate I was about to shoot. The booths to either side are plunged into darkness a split second before the plate rings like a gong. Opening my Eye again I look for the plate and find the bullseye has been torn out of it. The hole is a little off-center, but it's wide enough it still took out the entirety of the center anyway.

"Well, that looks like  _ two _ rewards you've earned. You must have been  _ busy _ the past few weeks."

"I don't have anything  _ else _ to do when we're not sending, and Thalia only needs two assistants to reach the whole sub sector. That used to take seven of us."

"Have you been practicing sixteen hours a day?" She nods, and I give a low whistle. Then I lean down and whisper in her ear. "You will get your reward at the usual time this evening. Ten minutes prior you will be on the edge of climax and stay there until you're given release, but you will not show it externally until you're in my bedroom." Her eyes go wide, and she trembles slightly.

"That's cruel milord."

"Would you rather I didn't?" She doesn't answer the question, so I just smirk and return to my own marksmanship practice.

…

…

The moment Gabby takes that last step into our room, her order-backed composure simply evaporates. Her knees give out and she simply drops to the floor with glass eyes open wide as her pale skin suddenly flushes a deep red. "Hnnng!"

"What did you do to her?" Marcella asks, not having been expecting  _ quite _ this level of need even after a couple months of daily edging without relief.

"Oh, about ten minutes ago an order kicked in to put her on the brink of climax, and keep her there until we get her off." My wife's eyes go almost as wide as Gabrielle's and she smiles. Waddling over and kneeling down, she starts helping me get our pet undressed, the girl herself currently impaired in the coordination department, and well aware I like unwrapping women. 'Cella's belly gets in the way rather badly really, but I can't begrudge her that, particularly since I only participated in the fun part.

Underneath her robes we find nipples hard enough to cut plasteel, swollen and sensitive, bringing needy whines to her lips when we each take one and give it a lick. She tries to squirm away and arch her back into it at the same time, bringing a chuckle from my throat. Holding her in place I continue on to nibble and suck, blowing cool air across the glistening nub when I pull back, generally adding to her delicious torment.

After a minute of that, I pull back and finish pulling her robes away, leaving her in just a pair of panties that quickly join her robes on the floor, exposing her deliciously reddened pussy to our eyes. As tempting as it is to just take her on the floor, that wouldn't be very fair to 'Cella with her currently limited mobility. Instead I pick her up and carry her over to the bed, laying down and placing Gabrielle atop me while my wife eagerly grabs my cock to get me lined up. Edged into a stupor as she is, she's  _ exceedingly _ aware of that sort of sensation, and immediately starts pressing back with a drawn-out whine of pleasure.

"Pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease-mph!" As Gabby stretches herself around me, copious juices dribbling down my length in advance of her stretched lips, Marcella claims her other lips, kneeling next to me and pulling her up into reach. After her first session I tweaked her just a little, deciding that she didn't need to be  _ quite _ so tight. I doubt she'd notice the difference through the lens of memory, but it's definitely easier to get inside her this time. The slow stretching is still just as exquisite, possibly a little better even, and without the little hitches as her lubrication spreads too thin at first.

"Gabrielle, you're not allowed to pass out when you climax, and you're not allowed to clench so tight I can't move either." Her answer, if it even is one, is a wordless whine. Her progress down my shaft has been a slow and steady affair, her trembling walls unable to really  _ properly _ clench while so stretched, but somehow just knowing we're blowing her mind is enough to compensate for the reduced stimulation. Grabbing her waist, I lift her up a bit just to free up some movement, her lips stretching downward as though reluctant to let go. As I do we're treated to her crying out against Marcella's lips, then groaning when I pull her back down, a little faster than before. Up one centimeter, down two, repeat until her brain is mush… oh wait.

As she slowly grows accustomed to being so stretched again, her hips start rocking along with my movement, instinctively joining me in a mutual drive toward the climax she so desperately needs. The one she would have had long ago if allowed. Every thrust brings her closer to the bottom, until finally I'm wedged against the back of her tunnel, pressing hard enough to be a little uncomfortable for her, and yet I'm sure that discomfort itself is going to end up with rather pleasant associations for her long term, since that's when I give her permission. "Cum for us."

Gabrielle's eyelids clench shut and her face scrunches up, bridge of her nose wrinkling as the permission hits. She already had one arm around 'Cella, and she pulls tight, head slipping away from my wife's lips to land against her shoulder while her voice struggles to join the picture, thready squeaking all that's emerging from her throat while goosebumps stand up all across her body. This time we're prepared for her loss of control, so we're already locking down her power as she goes over the edge, gagging her soul so her screams don't attract any  _ things _ we'd prefer to avoid.

With her being forbidden to clamp down, I'd  _ expected _ to continue thrusting uninterrupted this time, but with the rest of her squirming uncontrollably that's not much of an improvement with her on top. The long-term edging and denial I've subjected her to makes her climaxes simply so overwhelming that she's unable to cooperate. It's… Well, it's a lot of fun, especially as she just goes on and  _ on _ unable to pass out this time and making such wonderful noises. When it finally ends she's left limp and exhausted, but conscious. "As I recall, you have  _ two _ rewards coming." I point out while she's trying to catch her breath.

Flipping over so she's on the bottom, I drag her to the edge of the bed so I can get a different angle, and so- "Wah! Nononononono!" I pause, hands still on her knees.

"No? Are you refusing me?" Not a question I'd ask any of the others, they'd get a 'what's wrong?', but Gabrielle offered a different deal to begin with.

"NO! I-I want to save it milord. You can still have me obviously, but-" She bites her lip and looks back and forth between me and 'Cella. "I've  _ never _ had such intense climaxes before. I hate all the teasing, but… I just don't want to  _ waste _ a reward when I'm not all wound up."

"Ah… Heh heh heh… How would you like to double the punishments and rewards?" Marcella gets it almost immediately and grins, but Gabrielle, presumably still a little cum-drunk, doesn't.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, I could make you bring yourself to the edge twice per day, at least ten minutes apart, and earn two rewards instead of one for competence and mastery."

"YES!"

"Triple? No going back down though, so if you run out of skills to improve…"

"Uh…" She's clearly trying to process that through the profound relaxation she's experiencing. It takes her a minute, but then she nods. "Yes, triple sounds good. Not quadruple though."

"Very well, your orders are so changed, triple rewards and triple punishment. I'm going to see to my wife now, and you're going to…" I look to Marcella questioningly, handing her the figurative reins.

"No, keep going. I didn't get to taste you in her last time."

"Alright." Gabby gulps and takes a deep breath, then her eyelids flutter shut over her glass orbs as I resume thrusting, this time pounding her down into the mattress instead of leaving her on top. Marcella lays down and props herself up with an elbow so she can lean over and nibble on one shallow but perfectly formed breast, smiling at me around that puffy nipple between her teeth as she gently nips at it.

…

…

"This is funnier when you do it to someone else." 'Cella giggles, watching Gabrielle try and fail to stand.

"Funnier maybe, but less fun." Finally Gabby growls cutely in frustration and stands up somewhat jerkily, her legs moving like a puppets.

"I guess being smaller has a few advantages." She grumbles, and I realize she's cheating. As she's getting dressed though, she loses whatever technique that is and collapses again. "May I stay here milord?"

"On the loveseat." Marcella answers before I can. I just give her a raised eyebrow instead of contradicting her in front of Gabrielle.

  
  


  
**Segmentum Obscurus**  
**Koronus Sector**  
**Koronus Expanse**  
**Furibundus**  
**Heavy Transport - Writ of Surplus**  
**7.859.736M41**  
**Est. Arrival at Rally Point 9.877.736M41**  
"Stay asleep. In fifteen minutes you will have an erotic dream about me, and pleasure yourself in your sleep. When you reach the edge, you will wake up and keep yourself on the edge for one minute without going over before you're allowed to begin your day. This counts as your first edge for the day." I wasn't certain about letting her stay here overnight, but there  _ are _ certain advantages as it turns out. Leaving Gabrielle asleep on the loveseat, cutely snuggled up under a blanket, I turn and follow 'Cella out to the bathing room, joining her in the giant tub where she's already letting her hair out of her sleeping braid. "I was a little surprised you let her stay."

"Everyone important already knows what she offered-hnnnn" She trails off into a groan and presses back against my kneading fingers. "Right there. Now where was I? Right, Gabrielle, she's the only one who actually offered, well-"

"To be a sex slave?"

Marcella still manages to blush at that, without the context of ongoing bedroom fun. The switch between adventurous and blushing is- Well, she blushes in the bedroom  _ too _ , but she's aggressive anyway. The switch in how reserved she is still manages to be adorable, and I thread my fingers through a handful of her mane to pull her around for a kiss. Her shoulders squirm upward as she pulls back, but her bitten lip and the spark in her eyes tell the rest of the story. Her pupils have mostly taken over by now, especially when she's aroused, but there's still a thin ring of brilliant green that somehow seems all the more intense for its parsity.

It takes her a minute to pick the thread of the conversation up again after that, not helped when I start gently washing her with that silly loofah she likes so much. Eventually she gets it though. "We're already expected to keep her in our rooms, it won't  _ change _ any of the rumors, even if-"

"Even if one of the others deserves it more?" She sighs and nods, resting her head against my shoulder. "Well, it won't be too much longer before we can get away with keeping Elodia close at hand, as a wetnurse. Assuming we're even still on the Writ. Novator Solana might want us on a harder target now, with the collars and my seed. The easy grain run kind of  _ wasn't _ ."

"Yeah." That's about it for the conversation for a while, Marcella simply melting against me as I scrub her down, for once having the  _ time _ to do it early in the morning instead of scrambling to get ready for a shift at the throne.

She still insists on returning the favor even while heavily pregnant. Though given how much fun  _ I _ have washing  _ her _ , it's fair for her to have just as much fun washing me… Even if we don't have enough time for that fun to really go anywhere in the morning like this. Not when Silvea could walk in at any time.

She's nearly finished when Gabrielle's high whimpering sounds from our room, the need in her voice quite apparent to the ear as she's forced to inflict such sweet torture upon herself. "What did you do?" 'Cella sounds amused.

"Not much, just ordered her to have her first pleasure session of the day in her dreams, and wake up already on the edge of climax."

"You are terrible." The fondness in her voice doesn't really back up the words.

"Marcella, my love." I pull her into my arms, bringing my lips close enough to her ear that they brush over the delicate skin as I speak. "Spend the next ten seconds on the brink of climax, then go over." She immediately starts squirming with a needy moan, writhing against me for a little bit and gasping with every breath, then shudders and arches her back, fingers clawing at my arms where they're wrapped around her. Fortunately her nails are water softened at this point, so it just makes me smile.

* * *

  
**Segmentum Obscurus**  
**Koronus Sector**  
**Koronus Expanse**  
**Furibundus**  
**Heavy Transport - Writ of Surplus**  
**7.868.736M41**  
**Est. Arrival at Rally Point 9.877.736M41**  
The rally point is not, contrary to the message we received, on any form of 'direct' path toward Lucian's Breath. Instead it's offset by nearly twenty degrees realspace from Footfall, bringing us well to the north of that hellishly cold world. We make for the dark between the stars, a rally point that carries a different number for each ship in the Winterscale fleet. Paranoid perhaps, but considering his competition I think it's well justified.

As we've ventured farther from the well-traveled routes things have gotten a little quieter in some ways, and more stressful in others. We  _ have _ the charts to get there, even Calligos himself technically  _ doesn't _ since it's one my relatives charted for him, but they're seldom used. Things shift over 'time' in the warp, though time as most understand it has little to do with the matter. Unknown hazards litter the Empyrean, and while any lane frequently traveled is likewise frequently surveyed as a result, that's also where the various predators of the warp tend to congregate…  _ where there's prey _ . As a result the smaller routes carry more frequent danger, but less apocalyptic in scale.

Xan'Tai has their own hidden rally points they permit him to use, I know they exist, but neither house would ever permit another to know the details. Not of the routes at least, I'd not be surprised if a few of the actual rally points are closely aligned.

The thoughts wander through my head as I very carefully skim  _ around _ a massive chunk of stone that somehow ended up in here, by the shape it could almost be a segment of planetary crust, but how it ended up in the warp by itself without collapsing under its own gravity I couldn't guess. I loop back around it a few times to get a better look, or rather for Marcella to get a better look since she's the one adding it to our chart while I make sure we don't get  _ too _ close.

Our escorts are likewise inspecting the enormous chunk of debris, occasionally pulling away from the obstruction to wave warp-vanes at us or each other, 'hand signals' unique to each House, and instilled from an early age. The Writ isn't as agile as her escorts, so I stay back a bit farther. {Wreck spotted.} A signal I recognize instantly. {Titan} That one takes me a bit longer, and I regret that we have absolutely no way to get the thing  _ out _ of here. Of course, even if we did the thing's probably far gone by this point, madder than a hatter even if repaired. {Angevin Marks}

{Shame} I send back.

Returning to our original course after a few hours circling is both a relief and a renewal of stress. I knew where  _ that _ thing was now, but there could be more pieces out here somewhere. Wish I could guess the battle, but neither life is helpful there. Oh well.

  
  


  
**Segmentum Obscurus**  
**Koronus Sector**  
**Koronus Expanse**  
**Winterscale's Realm**  
**Rally Point Lucian 769**  
**Heavy Transport - Writ of Surplus**  
**7.877.736M41**  
"Well that's  _ not _ who I was expecting to meet us." Even at a significant distance, well away from where we emerge from The Warp, the Emperor's Vow is a spectacularly distinctive vessel. Half-again as long as the Writ, but only half the width, the sleek behemoth of death is resplendent in the dusky red and steel-blue of Winterscale's colors, her lines limned with gilding where heraldry of the Imperium shines in the faint light of the distant storms.

I can't make out that much detail at this distance, not in the dark between the stars, though I'm getting better at it. Marcella is still my better at that and likely always will be. From the bridge below I can hear the startled exclamations of the crew as the auspex returns come in, bringing with them the IFF signal of their sovereign's flagship. Whatever their commotion might be though, I still make sure to run down the warp-exit checklist, the litany of power-down tumbling from my lips in a murmur while being presented more clearly to the spirit of the Writ. We still have a gimped warp-vane projector, so I'm delayed a bit as I watch the readings carefully, undoubtedly mirrored by enginseers down in the genetorium. Even damaged as it is, it powers down cleanly and the Writ almost feels relieved at the cessation of damage reports.

"You have eight for a reason old girl." Giving the Writ's spirit an affectionate pat before disconnecting from the throne, I let it rise into the ceiling behind me as I step away from the controls. "Shall we go ask the situation?" Offering 'Cella my arm, I proceed down the stairs to the bridge. Below we find it a madhouse, a swarm of shipmen having appeared from nowhere with supplies of clean rags and polish, hunting down any speck that might have appeared on the already fairly clean bridge.

"Huh." Looking around for the Captain, I find only the old Voidmaster occupying her throne.

"Lord Winterscale requested her presence in person." He explains.

"Ah."

"And the cleaning?" Marcella asks. "Is he coming aboard soon?"

"You'd have to ask him." he looks around at the activity. "But considering The Vow possesses a teleportarium, I will operate under the assumption he could launch a surprise inspection at his leisure."

"Fair enough."

* * *

Unsurprisingly, once Captain Thorne's shuttle lands aboard the Vow, it's less than an hour before a vox message is received requesting my presence, 'with retinue'. Under the circumstances it's pretty clear what the meaning is.

Getting dressed for the event is an easy enough matter for me, my formal garb all still fits just fine.  _ Marcella _ however is in a bit of a panic. "I don't have anything to wear! I didn't think I'd need a formal gown so soon! I can't go in-"

"Marcella! Calm down." Like hitting a switch the panic stops, and she leans against the door of her closet as her breathing settles.

Giggling lightly with the release of tension, she offers a "Thank you." Walking over from where I'd been getting ready myself, I fold her in my arms and just let her take comfort in the embrace for a bit.

"Now, I'm  _ certain _ Lord Winterscale is well aware of the demands of a Great House. He won't be offended by one of your maternity gowns." Reaching past her, I point out a different option. "Or, we could  _ both _ wear our formal robes. There's enough extra cloth there right?" given that Navigator's Robes are designed to accommodate dramatic changes in physiology, there is indeed plenty of extra cloth. Neither of us usually prefer them, but they are formal garb, and can easily account for her bump.

"I suppose."

"You are  _ radiant _ my dear 'Cella, even in unflattering robes."

"Hmph!" I can still spot the grin she's trying to hide under a pout. It's not working very well, and even less well after I kiss her gently.

…

…

The shipwide order to ready for inspection fortunately triggered my guards to reflexively clean their weapons and armor, long practice making them quite fast at the task. As I head across the hall to check on them while Marcella does her makeup, I find them all in dress uniform save for the carapace laid out for quick adornment. Their breastplates have the Cassini calipers-and-stars above the heart, and retain the aquila with wings spread. The end result is the blindfolded head of the Adeptus Astronomica facing the house crest, all as it ought to be.

Looking at them arrayed at attention, eyes occasionally twitching toward me, I grin knowing how much they'd love to be visually undressing me instead right now. "Looking good ladies. Harley, stow your need until we're back in quarters." She takes a deep breath and her nearly imperceptible squirming ends. "Enjoying your gambling?"

"Sir, yes sir." I just chuckle, knowing how much she's sentenced herself to a feast-and-famine approach to pleasure.

"Armor on, move out."

…

…

When we arrive at the shuttle, we find Eta, Thalia, and Elodia waiting for us, their individual preparations shorter in many ways since the Astropath's aren't from noble houses, and Eta already maintains herself as a sterile instrument, as befits a chirurgeon. "Were you waiting long?"

"No milord."

"Excellent." With that I turn and head up the ramp into the shuttle, taking a seat near the front, far from the ramp located at the rear. The rest of my entourage takes their seats around me, and I lean back with Marcella leaning against me and focus on remaining calm. Were I only meeting with him as a newly qualified Navigator, that would be one thing, but with the collars in the picture… This meeting is the second major failure point I have to worry about, and it's one I was rather hoping would be a bit farther down the road.

The main bright spot is who I'll have in my corner for the talks to come. Graig and Silvea may not be joining us, but with Solana already aboard the Vow there's little chance she'll let the House get the short end of the stick in any negotiations. My guardians have already informed her of the results, so far, on every test subject along with Marcella and myself. They're only remaining behind to keep a minimum of two Navis on any ship out in the void.

Ahead of us the Emperor's Vow looms larger and larger as we approach, the ship's running lights and auspex readings the only things our pilots have to guide them to the hangar. Circling around and under the behemoth, we pull up into an opening that looks small until you get close and realize it's large enough for heavy cargo shuttles to launch five abreast. Here and now though the shuttles are stowed to the sides, with bright lights demarcating where to land.

Spinning around to face the stars, our pilot sets down impressively gently, and after a few moments calls out confirmation of atmosphere in the bay. As though the un-suited crew standing on the deck weren't clue enough.

  
  


  
**Segmentum Obscurus**  
**Koronus Sector**  
**Koronus Expanse**  
**Winterscale's Realm**  
**Rally Point Lucian 769**  
**Grand Cruiser - Emperor's Vow**  
**7.877.736M41**  
Walking to the bottom of the ramp, Marcella on my arm, I pause at the bottom and bow deeply to the individual who's here to meet me. "Speaker." Despite being only a little older than me, Tellac Cassini is in a position of significantly greater authority, at least for now. He speaks for Novator Solana when she cannot speak for herself, which is quite often given that she's restricted to a suspension tank. He doesn't have any personal authority, but he acts with hers… so long as he maintains her approval. Given how deeply she's rumored to be able to see into your soul, he's almost certainly trustworthy… He's also shorter than I remember.

"Cousin." The familial greeting is a bit of a relief, setting the tone of our meeting. "She will speak with you immediately, and then you will answer Lord Winterscale's questions over vox. Beyond that remains to be decided."

"Understood. I make no guarantees of having answers, but I will give those I can." Like hell I will. Unless he's an idiot he'll be asking questions whose answers will get me killed. He gets the same story as everyone else, and it even matches up with the reports he's no doubt pulled up from my wedding, since he  _ had _ a representative there. Sent a rather extravagant bottle of amasec if I remember correctly.

"No one can see all the answers." With that he turns to Marcella and smiles. "Congratulations. The growth of the House strengthens the Imperium."

She's not obliged to bow or curtsey in her condition, even if I know  _ full well _ that she's still easily flexible and fit enough to do it. It'd make him look a boor if she did though, so she just nods her head and places her free hand over her belly with a bright smile. "Thank you."

Initial greetings concluded, several members of Winterscale Security fall in around us. Procedure for  _ most _ visitors would have their weapons peace bonded at the very least, but that's really not something you can do to a Navigator since their most dangerous weapon is almost always  _ themselves _ . Instead we get a detachment of guards marching in column behind us, either to protect or persecute as necessary. Unlike Captain Thorne, Calligos hasn't been subjected to the possibly-unnatural skill in negotiation that came with the chokers. He doesn't trust me, because I haven't had weeks or months to work on him every day on the bridge for a few minutes at a time.

The corridors of the Vow are far more ostentatious than the Writ, baroque carvings and gilding everywhere. It serves to brighten the place up  _ dramatically _ despite having similar levels of actual lighting. It also serves to conceal a rather impressive assortment of murder-holes and hidden weapon emplacements scattered about if my eyes don't deceive me. As we approach the command deck the decorations get a little more refined, the officers getting the benefit of more skilled artisans.

Eventually of course we arrive at the corridor that leads to the spire. All the guards remain outside, both mine and Calligos's. In here is the domain of the Navis Nobilite and those they invite. Most of the crew wouldn't blink at me bringing my guards with me, but I wouldn't dare at this juncture.

Unlike the Writ, the Vow has no connection between the spire and the bridge, mostly because it's actually designed to accommodate older, and more powerful, Navigators. The Navis quarters are several times the size of those on the Writ, but the dry areas are not. One wall of the sitting room is thick armaglass looking in on the vaguely orange-tinted suspension fluid that occupies the tank which extends out of the living area and on into the spire wherein resides the Navigator's Throne.

The vague impression of something moving toward us precedes a wash of Empyrean light, Novator Solana's gaze sweeping over us and digging deep into our souls to judge our character. I can feel her sliding off the protections and pressing harder, so I reach up to my pendant and fiddle with it a bit. I don't actually need to touch it directly at this point, but it's a gesture meant to be seen. As I fiddle with it, I  _ partially _ lower the protection to let her see the character she's looking for, though not the plans I hold for the future. I don't  _ think _ our Eyes can do that? But I wouldn't be shocked to find out it's possible.

As she closes her Eye we can see past the glare and to the bloated form in the tank beyond. Not clearly by any means, some sort of privacy field keeps most of her concealed thankfully, but her twisted features characteristic of an old navigator are plain enough on her face. "Come closer my children, and turn sideways Marcella girl… Hold your robes tight- Ohh Heh heh heh heh. You look lovely, always a joy to see the family growing. Now-" Her voice shifts fast enough to cause whiplash, from the kindly grandmother to the Novator of a house scrambling to recover from the brink of extinction. "Your aunt had many interesting things to tell me, but I will hear from you." She commands. "Have you seen any signs that these devices could harm the House?"

"Oh, certainly." I answer immediately. "So could any weapon in the armory. Wielded with care however..."

"And can you wield them with sufficient care?"

"I'm working on it, but I still have much to learn. Genetor Eta-263 is assisting me in the endeavor, but while she is quite skilled in analyzing what effects they have on the body, she is less specialized in the analysis of the devices themselves. I hope to obtain a trustworthy Logis, and perhaps a Magos to contribute their skills. How long that takes depends on Eta's ability to convince her fellows that the devices are holy relics. Apparently they're labeled in languages of ancient Terra, so..." I shrug to indicate uncertainty how to take that.

"I see. And the dangers you've found?"

"Several. First, if we deploy them to the Family too quickly, and the Mechanicus should declare them heretical, it would mean our destruction. Even were they unable to wage war directly, we'd be as House Nostromo. Second… Have you seen a pict of Silvea's countenance since we arrived?"

"I have."

"She donned one as we left Furibundus. Her mutations may not be reversed, but they are significantly… less unsettling. If we keep them to ourselves, and word should leak, the other Houses may go to war for them." I wince. "And it  _ will _ leak. Not only has the crew of the Writ seen her, but we left troops at the Hermitage with a number of the devices, after we caught an agent of The Enemy possessing one of the locals. Twenty six of the devices are out in the Expanse now, beyond my control. The people who wore them  _ initially _ were bought from Winterscale, but most of them are dead now so..."

"I see." I wait while she considers that for a few moments. "Anything else?"

"Well, there's the obvious effect of the secondary devices turning the wearers into women, and making them… A month ago I would have said it makes them more attractive but- Well, they  _ try _ to make them attractive. I can exert my will on the machine spirit to somewhat adjust the changes made, that's how I got them to...  _ improve _ my guards like they are. I've made a habit of doing that for all the devices.

"...And they  _ do _ make them desire me, specifically. Or possibly just whoever's wearing the original device." I tap my pendant, then grab it and try to get it over my head, demonstrating the impossibility. "It amounts to much the same result."

There's a long pause while she considers what I've told her, simply floating there and staring at us, at me.

"Your reckless distribution of the additional devices before now has cost the House our chance to keep them secret to ourselves. Had you held back, this boon could have been ours alone- likely with some shared to Visscher after we had use of them, in payment of our debt, but that could have been delayed many years. Instead not only is the House at some risk by the knowledge of their existence, but we lose a great number of the devices, and we will be forced to lose more lest they be taken by force.

"You are correct to hesitate in full distribution to the House, there is risk there we cannot allow. A more limited distribution will be performed at the earliest opportunity, the details of which you will be given later. In the matter of Silvea's restored fertility, you will seed her, personally, once the Writ of Surplus has departed Lucian's Breath."

"But!-" Marcella starts to object.

"That is an order from your Novator. She will carry his child, and once the genetors are satisfied with the issue, the recipients of the limited distribution will do likewise. I have not yet determined who will receive them, save that they will be drawn from those who are barren with age. Count yourselves fortunate if the devices can render them appealing to the eyes."

I exchange a look with Marcella, both of us cringing at being ordered to knock Silvea up. Particularly given the order to do it personally. It's  _ obvious _ she's played us, getting the Novator on her side  _ before _ our audience with her.

As much as I'd like to object strenuously, the command she's issued isn't even out of line for her. Not for a House Navis. Even within more genetically tolerant noble houses of the Imperium that would be considered within the remit of the head of house. There's a wild dichotomy between the lives I remember here. In this galaxy, this millennium, arranged marriages are the norm among the Nobilite, not the marriage for love I remember in another life. Here and now my marriage to Marcella is a colossal stroke of luck, the best of both worlds. We were slated to wed before we ever met, and we became fast friends long before being informed of that fact. I remember dreading the day we'd be parted to wed our arranged partners, and the joy when we learned there'd be no parting.

The Novator's command is simply a taste of what could have been, the more probable course our lives might have taken instead. I don't like it, but… Sighing and hugging 'Cella against my side with one arm, I nod defeatedly. I  _ could _ argue the point, I can feel the words that could convince her, but I can also feel that conceding this battle puts me in a better position for the war, so to speak. "May I at least know  _ why _ you want it done personally? Why not have a Genetor take care of it?"

"Silvea is hardly the most disfigured among us. It will do you good to grow accustomed to such things, even if those devices alleviate much of the problem."

"Her appearance isn't the problem." Solana pauses when I say that, and sighs.

"I see. You  _ were _ fostered early, so that's to be expected, but my decision stands. You will not turn away family who wear those devices. Most will be left wanting simply due to the movement of the fleet, but when possible you will see to the wearers personally instead of leaving the matter entirely to the Genetors."

"...I understand."

"Good. Now step outside and send your Genetor in. I will speak with her privately."

"Very well." My feet feel a bit heavy as I exit the room. I  _ really _ don't like losing a battle, even if winning it would set me up for later defeat. "Eta, you're up." As she heads in behind us, I help 'Cella to one of the seats in the antechamber. "It could have gone worse."

  
  


  
**Segmentum Obscurus**  
**Koronus Sector**  
**Koronus Expanse**  
**Winterscale's Realm**  
**Rally Point Lucian 769**  
**Grand Cruiser - Emperor's Vow**  
**7.877.736M41**  
If I weren't  _ absolutely _ certain of their loyalty to me personally, I'd be rather concerned as Novator Solana works her way through each of my retinue, calling them in one at a time to speak with them, peering deep into their souls in search of anything she might not like, interrogating them and cross-examining them to within an inch of their lives. With Tellac out here we can't really converse freely about what she's asking, or at least not without her knowing immediately. Instead I simply sit quietly and impatiently, 'Cella's head resting against my deltoid while I hold her tight with that arm. Neither of us is terribly  _ happy _ about how it turned out, and I have a few plans for getting back at Silvea later, but nothing we can discuss here. Nothing vile, but she's not going to find the experience as 'satisfying' as she's expecting.

Eventually Marcella and I are called back in again, moving to stand before the suspension tank, face to twisted face with the head of our house. "You left someone behind."

"Gabrielle has yet to earn a place in my retinue." I answer immediately. There's not much question who she might mean, considering almost everyone with a collar is on the Vow at the moment, and all of  _ those _ have been through this room in the past hour. "She received a device due to lack of choice with a damaged ship. The bargain I struck with the Captain allowed me to procure the 'spare' Astropaths, and under the circumstances the choices were to collar her or, in all honesty, shoot her. Not only would the latter still risk a Breach, but it would also reduce the number of spare Astropaths by one."

"You should have brought her regardless."

"I can send for her now. She's made good progress."

"Unnecessary." She pauses a moment. "You will soon have the opportunity to speak with Lord Winterscale himself, on the recommendation of Captain Thorne. The reputation of our House will rest on your shoulders, DO NOT disappoint me. I will also be present, and any negotiation beyond what you have already accomplished will fall to me. Do not undermine my position, do not offend him. Do not back down either, lest you lose his respect."

I nod hesitantly. "Don't offend him  _ and _ don't back down?"

"He respects strength of will above all else. It won't stop him from crushing someone, but they'll keep his respect if they stand tall. Stand up to him, but do it  _ politely _ ."

"Understood."

* * *

The display screen presenting Calligos' image is a marvel of archeotech. Unlike the green phosphor tint oft-used by the Imperium, it's a full-color hologram nearly indistinguishable from the real thing… aside from the lack of an actual  _ soul _ where he appears to be seated. I wouldn't be surprised if it's projecting him a little larger than life, but I've also heard he's a giant of a man in any case, the sort of stature I needed to adjust collar settings to gain. Even then he's broad shouldered where I chose to remain relatively lean, a power build over agility, and undoubtedly imposing in-person. Novator Solana likewise has a projection present, but it's merely the usual green of standard Imperial gear.

Eta and Marcella are seated to either side of me, and through the projection I can see Captain Thorne and a tech-priest I don't immediately recognize seated to either side of Calligos Winterscale. Thorne looks a little uncomfortable for… possibly multiple reasons I suppose, and the tech-priest is as unreadable as such individuals normally are. It's probably Omicron two-seven since I know he's part of Winterscale's Retinue. The man himself is wearing a slight smirk, leaned back in his chair with his arms crossed. "I don't know how you got those options past Thorne kid, but well played. The first may as well be free, so I will certainly exercise that option, but after that-" He shakes his head. "Far too expensive."

I shrug "Market conditions change."

"They do." He glances over at the tech-priest. "You need Omicron's blessing on them, it's going to cost. He won't be examining any that don't belong to me. How many did it take your genetor to finish her study?"

"I  _ want _ his blessing certainly, but I doubt I need  _ his  _ specifically. He is simply the most convenient highly ranked tech-priest I know of."

"The House Genetors can and will study the effects of the devices." Solana interjects. "Omicron's personal study can be limited to the devices themselves, along with samples of Eta Six Two Three's altered augmentations. We will keep him supplied with one  _ functional _ device at a time"

"Five."

"Your forces on the Hermitage have undoubtedly claimed that many from our dead soldiers already." I interject.

"You would concede the possession of those devices?" He directs the question to Solana.

"So long as they remain employed in either study or the preservation of the Passage. If some are destroyed in analysis we will replace a small number. Wastefulness will not be tolerated." The last is clearly directed at Omicron rather than Calligos himself.

"Agreed, provided you replace combat losses to maintain readiness."

"That is an entirely different matter. Combat losses, against any and all forces threatening the integrity of the Koronus Passage, will be replaced so long as production continues."

"Agreed."

Somehow it seems too easy for that to go that way, but then again the integrity of the Passage is utterly vital for both parties here, and both parties  _ know _ that. There's a bit more back and forth regarding the  _ exact _ details, but eventually they establish an agreement for a rather better equipped task force than the one the Writ left behind, though much smaller, to maintain a presence aboard the Hermitage. They're going to get  _ much _ better weapons and armor to make up for their small numbers, since only the twenty-six collared will be assigned there full time.

Once it's settled, Calligos lifts a hand and signals to someone off-screen. "A toast, to the First Maw Hellwardens." At that a door opens in the room I'm in as well, a servant in Winterscale livery placing ornate steins of some golden drink before the three of us physically present and then withdrawing. On cue I raise mine to clank against Marcella and Eta's.

"May they stand strong." Taking a swig, I find the mead rather lovely, also quite potent. Eta gestures to Marcella to indicate a  _ small _ sip for politeness sake. I doubt the collar would let anything get through anyway, but better safe.

"Now, there's a matter of vengeance to discuss." Calligos announces after his drink clanks to the table on the other end of the connection. "Two of my ships were struck by a Corsair a month ago. The hulls have been towed back to my yard, but repairs will take years. Several of your family were badly injured in their attack."

"I… see." I think a bit. "I've heard tell you've driven a corsair out of the expanse before. But that was before Aspyce wasn't it?"

He nods. "They shoved their lances in my back the moment she started a major offensive. If it weren't the  _ Eldar _ I'd suspect them of working with her."

"I wouldn't put it past her, but they hardly need an excuse to stab anyone who turns their back."

"Scavengers." He snarls. "Content to nip at our heels while our so-called peers assault us. But I have something planned for them. On paper the Ravening Glare is a match for this Corsair, but only if the crew advantage is negated."

"Ah, Precog immunity."

"Exactly. I don't trust these devices, not until Omicron has given  _ his _ approval. But spending a single ship to eliminate a corsair instead of twenty is a gamble I'm willing to take. The captain, along with his guards, will  _ not _ be wearing any, but the helmsman, the gunners, and whatever combat-rated navigators House Cassini can provide will be. If they succeed, you can have the bounty as payment for the devices used by the crew."

"What kind of ship?"

"She's an old Gothic class." The Novator informs me when I look at her questioningly. "If barely recognizable at this point."

"What happened to her?"

"The port and starboard lance batteries were casualties of the Angevin Crusade, but they've been replaced with Lathe pattern Las-Broadsides, and the reduced power consumption allowed the installation of substantial Field Bracing. Anjeka and Kaarel are quite fond of the old girl, but I'm not convinced she's a match for an Eldar vessel."

"Not by standard doctrine, but she has the teeth and the hide, all she needs is a way to force them to stand and fight. That's where your relics and your kinsmen come in."

"Gothic's are a Lunar variant, so that's… six collars for your crew then? Five lead gunners and the helmsman." I look to Solana here, since she's made it clear to let her do the negotiating. Once again I'm getting a feeling for words that could get my way on the matter, but it's still a case of winning the battle to lose the war.

"That is also quite the concentration of our family." She declares flatly. "Losing a half-dozen of our best… You well know the position we're already in. What guarantee do you offer for their safety?"

"I don't think you have a choice. If that Corsair is allowed to continue, you're likely to lose more than a mere six. The Ravening Glare has the best chance of success, particularly if she's given the chance to be  _ unpredictable _ ."

"How much is this bounty?" I ask, glancing at Solana as I speak. "My kinsmen are not mine to direct, but I do understand vengeance."

  
  


  
**Segmentum Obscurus**  
**Koronus Sector**  
**Koronus Expanse**  
**Winterscale's Realm**  
**Rally Point Lucian 769**  
**Grand Cruiser - Emperor's Vow**  
**7.877.736M41**  
As…  _ cordial _ as the negotiations may have been, it's still a massive relief when they're over. Right now both of those people could squash my chances like a bug, and both are quite strong willed. I  _ think _ I left a decent impression, at least for my assumed age, but I know the bar would have been much higher with the age of my memories. Not that that life ever haggled for something more valuable than a groundcar.

I didn't get even close to everything I wanted out of that, but it's pretty obvious that this is a  _ test _ . If the Glare performs well, there's room for things to improve. If it doesn't, Winterscale is likely to dismiss the collars as less valuable than they truly are. Two of our house's astropaths, already skilled in telekinesis, will also be getting collars and sent along, their newfound ability to stand in for extra void shields yet another unexpected advantage for the Glare when it faces this corsair. Meanwhile all I can do is pray for their success, because I'm far too valuable to the House to be permitted anywhere near that sort of fight. Six navigators, even skilled in combat precognition, can be replaced so long as we have the genepool to do it.

Solana will be granted possession of the dozen collars needed for the test, once I have them sent over, as the Vow is apparently scheduled to rendezvous with the Glare sometime after she escorts the Writ to Lucian's Breath. I'm still not clear on why the Vow met us at all, since that ship clearly has more important things to be doing. Maybe it was just in the area anyway? Some sort of actions being taken against Aspyce's interests on that iceball?

"You were adequate." Tellac's voice draws me out of my thoughts. It's rather backhanded praise from the Novator, even delivered through her Speaker as we make our way back to the hangar. Sure, her standards are impossibly high, but I'd still have liked more.

"Thank you." Of course, it wouldn't do to be impolite anyway. "...Kaarel is your-" I have to think a minute. "First cousin?"

"Yes."

"Is the Glare a recent posting then? I would have expected to hear about where he was posted before."

"It's been a year, but you were on the other side of the Passage."

"Mmm."

* * *

  
**Segmentum Obscurus**  
**Koronus Sector**  
**Koronus Expanse**  
**Winterscale's Realm**  
**Rally Point Lucian 769**  
**Heavy Transport - Writ of Surplus**  
**7.878.736M41**  
When we get back to the Writ, we find Silvea waiting for us looking like the cat that ate the canary, sharp-toothed grin and all. Stepping forward I offer a hug as though to show no hard feelings, but as I wrap my arms around her I murmur in her ear. "You may have won this round Aunty, but when the time comes, you  _ won't _ ." Even with the linguistic drift of millenia, _ that _ pun still works, though the homophones involved are dramatically different. She stiffens in my arms, and when I let go her smile is a little more plastic than before. I just smile back and step aside for Marcella to get a hug too.

…

As we ride the lift back toward the officer's deck, I wait until we're nearly at our destination before speaking. "You would have had better luck leaving the Novator out of it, even if it would have taken significantly longer. I'll do as she ordered, but no more." The timing… isn't exactly all I'd hoped, the doors opening a good five seconds after I finished speaking. It spoils my intended result of finishing and immediately stepping out as they opened. If Marcella doesn't tease me about it later, I'm sure Lucy will take up the flag so to speak.

Right now though, I just want to go lay down and hold 'Cella, let all the stress of the past several hours fade away while I hold my wife and child close.

…

"Yes?" I ask somewhat irritably when Silvea's hand grabs my shoulder as I'm walking through the foyer. Marcella stops walking as well and turns to look. Instead of turning, I share a commiserating look with my wife while we listen to what she has to say for herself.

"I asked her to convince you, yes, but it was not purely selfish. Take your irritation out on me if you must, but remember, in fifteen years you will almost certainly  _ still _ have the best seed in the house, and these collars may well have the same effect looking up as they do looking down or across." I twist partially away from Marcella to look over at Silvea, and when I meet her eyes she glances over and nods her head at 'Cella's belly. "Don't wait and take this out on her."

"Is that really why you had her  _ order _ me to your bed?" I ask. "Answer honestly."

"I asked for her help. I did not ask her to  _ order _ you."

"And what did you expect?"

"A more delicate touch."

…

…

"Do you think it'll work?" I almost miss the question, too busy smiling like a loon while our daughter kicks my hand. "Sending just the Glare?"

"I hope so. It sounds like Aspyce has Calligos stretched a little thinner than he'd like to admit." Burying my nose in her hair, I take a deep sniff, enjoying her scent for a moment. "If it does, I'm sure she'll see use against Aspyce too… Heh, I didn't even know there  _ was _ a specific Lathe-Pattern Las-Broadside. Probably the same lens upgrade as the Sunhammer?"

"What?"

"The Sunhammer lances are Lathe-Pattern Titanforge Lances, with improved focus for longer range. Not sure how they do it, but I'd guess they did the same for Sunsears or something similar. Going to be a rude shock for the Eldar if they think they can just dart in and out of range like usual."

"Good." She lays her hand over mine, lacing her fingers between my splayed digits and sighing contentedly when I trap them there, holding her hand a little backwards, but both of us able to feel the current gymnastics going on inside her. I'm sure she has a much more  _ direct _ experience of them too, but this is a shared experience for the moment, a reminder that there's joy in the future even where there's worry now.

Eventually Elodia shows her face, slipping in through the door with the access key Marcella already gave her in anticipation of her duties as wetnurse. When I lift my head to look, I can tell just by the way she's moving that she's  _ beyond _ full, the time aboard the Vow, followed by this alone time with Marcella having pushed her to the point of needing either our attention or a machine to provide relief. She doesn't really leak with the way her collar is set, so suction is mandatory to avoid the painful soreness of overly full breasts. "May I join you?" She asks quietly, and I nod.

Hurriedly stripping down, she takes a position facing us, her left breast laying against the sheets right before Marcella, while the right lays atop it. I can reach it pretty easily by leaning my head past hers, putting us ear-to-ear while we enjoy our lovely devout astropath's milk. There's something deeply calming about the stuff, no doubt memories and instincts baked into humanity itself. Elodia's groans of relief are amusing enough to keep us awake and even prompt a bit of playfulness, nibbling and licking joining the sucking while she shivers and moans.

  
  


  
**Segmentum Obscurus**  
**Koronus Sector**  
**Koronus Expanse**  
**Winterscale's Realm**  
**The Warp**  
**Heavy Transport - Writ of Surplus**  
**9.880.736M41**  
**Est. Arrival at Lucian's Breath 9.897.736M41**  
The Emperor's Vow is blessed with the massively overbuilt warp engines of an ancient ship of the line, carving a deep wake through the Immaterium that's remarkably easy to follow even aside from the tremendous skill of the Novator. Ideally she would be planetbound, or perhaps a vast battle-station in orbit somewhere, not serving as active navigator aboard a ship of the line. It's the most formidable combat vessel available, but it still feels too fragile for the job somehow. Oh well, that is  _ well _ outside my paygrade for the time being. As is the fate of that Corsair, however much that fate might reflect on my own moving forward.

Hurtling through the Immaterium, it's interesting watching a true master of the craft at work ahead of us, and slightly deeper. The warp-vanes of the Vow barely seem to twitch, and yet their ride is buttery smooth where ours is a little rough despite my best efforts. I just can't react to every little eddy minutes in advance like she can yet. Even Graig can't come close to that demonstration, and Solana is being handicapped by deliberately dragging a wake for our benefit. The Writ couldn't normally keep up, but there  _ are _ tricks of the trade for moving in convoy.

I'm also learning  _ far _ faster just watching her move than I usually do with direct instruction from Graig and Silvea. When one of them provides instruction in tandem? Even with the literal hell right outside the window, I can't hold back the smile as I ride the wake. Even the Writ herself is having  _ fun _ for once, like the memories of that other life watching dolphins play in the wake of a ship. The damaged vane still hurts, but she doesn't care at the moment.

* * *

  
**Segmentum Obscurus**  
**Koronus Sector**  
**Koronus Expanse**  
**Winterscale's Realm**  
**The Warp**  
**Heavy Transport - Writ of Surplus**  
**9.881.736M41**  
**Est. Arrival at Lucian's Breath 9.897.736M41**  
"You had to ask me here while I'm in the red? Sir?" I just laugh and tilt Harley's chin up to claim a brief kiss.

"And if I were to pick a day at random, what are the odds you  _ wouldn't _ be in the red?" She blushes when I ask the question, and I laugh some more. "You must burn through your bank very quickly indeed when you're in the black." The dreamy smile really says it all, and I step out of the way so Marcella can claim a kiss or three as well. She's had a bit of a waddle for a few days now, but any claims that it's 'cute' get a sniff and a pout.

As we bring Harley into our inner sanctum, such as it is, 'Cella jerks to a halt for a moment and groans. "Is something wrong?"

"Your daughter kicked me in the kidney."

"Your daughter too."

"Only when she's behaving herself." I snort at that claim, and Harley laughs, hurrying to put her hands on 'Cella's protruding belly to feel the kicking and movement, temporarily delaying our  _ planned _ fun for some cooing and commiseration.

"Shouldn't turn around so fast, so she doesn't lose sight."

"Oh hush, she has no idea yet."

"If she can hear you singing, I'm pretty sure she can see His light." The argument may as well be scripted by now, and she's already turning her face up for the 'makeup' kiss before I finish the sentence. It's soft and sweet, and then she giggles when I pull back and starts dragging Harley toward our bed again. She lets go once our bedroom door shuts, and heads over to sprawl across our bed in a rather undignified manner. Not that there's anything dignified about being six months pregnant. Cute? Yes. Beautiful? Absolutely. Dignified? No.

Pulling Harley around to hold her back to me, I look Marcella in the eyes as I start to undress her, teasing the exposed flesh as I reveal it. The act hasn't really become ritual by any means, there's too much variation, but undressing our guest of the evening while the other watches is excellent foreplay. Trading back and forth has tapered off a bit as she's grown heavier, or bigger anyway since the weight is easily handled by her enhanced body.

The woman in my arms keeps letting out little whimpers and moans as I work, the flush of arousal already well down her neck by the time we got her in the room. She won't be getting any relief as we play with her this evening, since unlike Gabrielle all I did was hand her some rope, she's the one who used it. "So, question for you Harley. Will you be  _ changing _ your betting habits after this? Or maybe your spending habits with your winnings?" She just groans, and I laugh, leaning in to kiss her neck, one hand down her panties to slide along slick lips, while the other plays with one taut nipple, lightly twisting it back and forth just a fraction while she leans her head back against my shoulder.

Across the room Marcella watches with a smile, rubbing her thighs together in anticipation. "Go on and join her, I'll be right behind you." With that instruction I give Harley a little push and start stripping myself while she stalks toward my wife, trying to take the aggressive position to 'Cella's amusement. She allows it to happen, leaning back and spreading her legs, leaving our guest with the problem of geometry as her belly gets in the way a bit. Enhanced strength solves many problems though, so Harley just picks 'Cella's hips up and props her elbows on the bed, changing the angles so she can get her face in to start licking. My wife's slightly surprised squeak makes me chuckle. "I'm going to have to remember that position."

Harley certainly seems to be taking her current frustration out on my wife as I approach, to her great delight if the sounds she's making are any indication. Putting my hands on her hips, I slide in and find her already on the edge, sweltering hot and twitching with need. The high moan and full-body shudder just back up the overall impression. "Oooh, I think I  _ like _ having you this needy." Her plaintive whine doesn't help her case. As I start thrusting she eagerly, needily, rocks her hips back at me, rippling and clenching, forgetting to pay attention to Marcella until slender hands tangle in her hair.

Her shivering gets harder and more frequent, until she's nearly vibrating, then she lets out a disappointed whine while her pussy goes mad, hungrily massaging my cock as though desperate for the pleasure she's currently denied. "Oh Sirrr…  _ Please!? _ "

"Cum again." The eager gasp turns into another disappointed whine, her orders to have only ruined orgasms while in the red still in effect. It still sends her needy cunt into a snapping frenzy around my cock, the wonderful massage bringing me close to the edge. "Maybe you should save more." I tease, just holding myself deep inside her while her twitching does most of the work. Every few seconds I pull back and thrust again, pushing her back toward that unsatisfying peak, trying to hold myself back so I can join her next time… Well, join her in climax, mine will be  _ quite _ satisfying.

Marcella's expression of bliss is largely obscured by her hair, a couple locks not included in her braid today currently laying across her face and flopping around as she twists her head from side to side, writhing as well as she can in the circumstances. Her hands are in Harley's hair, and her legs are kicking in the air, but her hips are held tight while her puffy lips get a thorough licking. Harley keeps giving her just a lick or two at her clit before moving away again, pulling against the hands in her hair to tease instead of satisfy, but 'Cella's having difficulty actually ordering her to  _ get on with it _ . Every time she tries, that's when Harley returns to her clit for a few moments.

"You've been practicing." I comment.

"Lucy."

"Figured." Speeding up, I drive Harley's body forward until she's  _ unable _ to continue her teasing, too busy with her own gasps and moans. 'Cella's voice regains coherency long enough to order "Enough teasing!" instead of "Enou-guaahhhah" for once, and I order Harley to cum with us, letting go myself at the same time. Her denied twitching is wonderful as I paint her white, and her whine of disappointment mingles with 'Cella's cry of release.

…

"So, still enjoying your betting?" I ask teasingly, Harley held in my arms while Marcella positions herself to clean her out. It's a bit awkward, most things are for her currently, but once she's in place she spreads the rather messy and inflamed lips with a big smile.

"Oh, you're sooo red and puffy." The teasingly fake concern is very hot from where I'm sitting. Her tongue laps out to collect a little rivulet that was starting to escape. "Mmm. You're twitching when I just-" A gentle breath across those sensitive petals gives truth to the claim, Harley's inflamed pearl bobbing in place. A darting tongue, a single lick, and she's shuddering in my arms with another lost climax. This one 'Cella deliberately extends, sucking on her clit, jaw working side to side to rub her lips back and forth. Harley whimpers as it fades, and my lovely teasing wife dips down lower to slurp at the mingled juices squeezed out by those convulsions. The spluttering slurping noises, and then the way she raises her head to  _ show _ me her prize before swallowing it, has me very tempted to take her while she goes at it, but this time she wants to be able to focus on Harley. We have time for another round later.

  
  


  
**Segmentum Obscurus**  
**Koronus Sector**  
**Koronus Expanse**  
**Winterscale's Realm**  
**Lucian's Breath**  
**Mandeville Point**  
**Heavy Transport - Writ of Surplus**  
**9.897.736M41**  
Dropping out of warp behind the Emperor's Vow is every bit as much of an experience as following behind. It's Graig at the controls this time, the prospect of abruptly needing to dive back out making him most qualified. The Vow ahead of us barely opens the rift wide enough to squeeze through before they hit the materium, I don't think it'd finished forming before the bow was through with weapons already hot.

Our escorts joined them moments later, and then so did we. There was nothing  _ there _ as it turns out, but I'm certain everyone in the system knows they're here now with an entry like that. Void shields are  _ not _ quiet on auspex, even if you ignore the gaping wounds in reality pouring formless radiation out upon the battered galaxy from the entry points themselves. Off in the distance we watch the Vow power down her rows of lances, the ominous glow of their emitters fading when enemies fail to materialize.

"That's a relief." Heading down the stairs to the bridge, I jump down into the gunnery pit with Marcella and the dorsal lance gunner, giving her a clattering hug. "All clear." She grins and turns her head away, and I grab the connector protruding from the back of her neck and disconnect it before placing a kiss right next to the socket.

"Sorry I missed it." She comments, leaning into the touch and knocking her helmet against mine. Given that it's  _ not _ a combat entry after all, I reach around her and unclasp the chin strap with one hand while undoing my own with the other.

"Yeah, well, taking the stairs in a hurry… The spire on this ship isn't the best."

"Ahem."

"Oh, sorry." Climbing back up out of the pit, I help Marcella up too so we're out of the gunner's hair. He doesn't have much to be doing right now anyway, but there's no need to be affectionate  _ while _ right behind his chair. No matter how adorable 'Cella is.

The captain studiously ignores us as we leave, continuing a pattern she's held over the last several days since our rendezvous with the Vow. She's finally sitting comfortably again, but I imagine the rumors are going to continue at a dull roar for some time to come. If nothing else, the prospect that she might have gotten  _ spanked _ lends credence to the ones about her being a booty call for Calligos on occasion. It does make me  _ very _ glad I didn't try to collar her, any security precautions aboard ship aside, cucking  _ Calligos Winterscale _ would have been a colossal blunder. The sort that earns a bolter shell between the eyes  _ if you're lucky _ .

I feel a  _ little _ guilty about her penalty, but there's no actual evidence to say I knew as much about the chokers then as I did. She made a poor bargain, but paid a very light price for it in the end… her end.

"Something amusing sir?" Ligia asks innocently as we're walking down the corridor, somehow able to read my amusement despite my best efforts. Some product of the choker I'm sure, the right words to get the desired reaction springing to her lips as desired. Strangely Gabrielle and… err…  _ Silvea _ are the only ones so far who don't seem to have gotten that benefit.

"Of course not." No one  _ dares _ mention 'The Spanking' aloud, or where it could possibly get back to Thorne. Several people are in the infirmary after getting a very literal lashing for 'spreading disrespectful rumors.' Marcella could probably avoid the lash, but I'm actually not certain that even the contract with House Cassini would be enough to protect  _ me _ .

* * *

  
**Segmentum Obscurus**  
**Koronus Sector**  
**Koronus Expanse**  
**Winterscale's Realm**  
**Lucian's Breath**  
**Heavy Transport - Writ of Surplus**  
**7.912.736M41**  
**Expected Orbital Insertion - 7.957.736M41**  
As we get closer, the Writ's auspex can begin to pick out details of the orbitals. Lucian's Breath is a  _ goldmine _ of wealth, and the primary crown jewel Aspyce is fighting over for the time being. It's been a Winterscale holding for generations though, so there's infrastructure already in place to keep it safe. Victory Station holds geostationary orbit over the richest nephium fields, ancient and powerful banks of lances ready to unleash pinpoint fire without overly disrupting operations on the surface. It's there we're headed, to moor and offload vast stores of grain to supply the station and the miners below with their daily bread for another year.

It's hardly glamorous cargo, and it  _ should _ have been a nice safe run. There was originally supposed to be a quartet of Carrack Transports at the rendezvous, to transfer the cargo for its last leg. The far more durable and deadly, but smaller, transports able to protect themselves in ways the Writ simply can't for that last fifty lightyears. Instead we're taking a flying target into an active warzone, but receiving escort from a proper ship of the line. I just hope Aspyce's flagship doesn't put in a personal appearance.

The long fall in-system holds the rest of this little task force to the Writ's acceleration, behemoth drives straining to move more tons of grain than the total mass of the Emperor's Vow. No matter the coaxing the enginseers offer the great beast though, she can only move  _ so _ fast while fully loaded.

* * *

  
**Segmentum Obscurus**  
**Koronus Sector**  
**Koronus Expanse**  
**Winterscale's Realm**  
**Lucian's Breath**  
**Heavy Transport - Writ of Surplus**  
**7.945.736M41**  
**Expected Orbital Insertion - 7.957.736M41**  
*****SKREEE-SKRRK!* *SKREEE-SKRRK!* *SKREEE-SKRRK!*** "In the middle of the night? Really?" I awake with a groan. "Oh fuck me- Wait, no, belay that." Helping a groggy Marcella into her armor takes longer than I'd like, even perfect health doesn't obviate  _ all _ the inconveniences of pregnancy. Even though it's clear that she's not fit for duty at the moment,  _ I _ still need to report to the bridge post-haste. **

**  
**

Scrambling out into the foyer, I find Graig making his way toward the door, Silvea undoubtedly long gone. With a wave to my uncle, I carry on to meet up with my guards waiting for me in the hallway. "Ligia, send three to guard Marcella." I order, jerking my head back the way I came. She doesn't even have to say a word though and Lucy, Harley, and Jezmine detach to stay here. Jez leaps into the air to clamber up the ornate decorations and find a place in among the gargoyles on the ceiling while the other two head inside. "You rehearse that?"

"Yes sir." She answers, falling in next to me as I start running.

"Well done."

…

…

With Marcella out of commission and Graig slow, I'm unsurprised to find Silvea already down in the pit with the defensive fire directors, plugged in and searching for incoming… Torps? Bombers?

"Which station?" I ask perfunctorily, and get pointed straight forward at the helm. Heading over and taking a seat, I find the helmsman staring fixedly at the auspex, numerous faint dots approaching in a wave from the other side of the hulking behemoth that is the Emperor's Vow. "What are we looking at?" I ask, grabbing the MIU cable attached to the console and plugging in.

"Bombers."

"Lovely. Carrier sneak up somehow or…?"

"Hidden Cometary base."

Isn't  _ that _ interesting. To have something like that waiting for us… Aspyce had to know in advance that we were coming, from which direction, and approximately  _ when _ . Someone… Someone on  _ Winterscale's flagship _ , had to have told her. Either that or she really  _ is _ collaborating with Xenos. The Warrant extends to trading with them certainly, but not working  _ with _ them  _ against _ humanity… Or she might have a precog on-tap, since Calligos is  _ not _ precog immune.

I'm not sure which I'm hoping for honestly.

  
  


****  
**Segmentum Obscurus**  
**Koronus Sector**  
**Koronus Expanse**  
**Winterscale's Realm**  
**Lucian's Breath**  
**Heavy Transport - Writ of Surplus**  
**7.945.736M41**  
**Expected Orbital Insertion - 7.957.736M41**  
_ "Milord?" _ It's Thalia's voice.  _ "One of the cargo shuttle pilots used to serve on a Marauder." _

_ "And?" _

_ "He remembers where the ejection handle is located." _ I can't hold back the vicious laughter at that tidbit.

"What's so funny Navigator?" Thorne asks, still every bit as grumpy about the hour as I was up until a few seconds ago.

"Marauders have ejection seats Ma'am, and we have a Thalia." There's a few moments of silence, and then some of the other bridge officers succumb to their own vicious laughter.

"Kellick, get the shuttle pilots out of bed and in their craft." I can  _ hear _ her evil smile. "Tell them to prepare for floater duty. I want  _ answers _ ."

"Yes! Ma'am!"

_ "Whenever you're ready, beautiful." _

…

…

With the Writ tucked in close under the Vow, rolled upside down to let our dorsal weapons cover another arc, it's still a long wait before the bombers come within range. Oh, sure, the Vow rakes the skies with las and lance fire, but striking individual bombers with anti-ship weapons at range is really not that effective. More of a 'we see you' than anything materially damaging. It's apparently not a discouragement to them, but Aspyce  _ is _ fond of penal forces, so it's entirely possible that retreat would just get them executed anyway.

As the bombers draw closer, I start searching out the optimal moment to roll back up and behind the Vow, my future-sight meshing oddly with Solana's in a not-actually-empathy way. All each of us can actually see is what the other is planning right now, and even that is muddied by the fact that it's all echoes in the warp rolling backwards from otherwise innocuous actions. Mistakes echo  _ loudly _ fortunately, so we don't actually make them, but finding the right time to-  _ there _ . I hold my intent steady, backing up my train of thought a little to fit with her plans, feeding the details to the helm.

This is  _ not _ standard doctrine in the Battlefleet, what we're doing here. The sheer extravagance of using multiple navigators for precognitive combat maneuvering is the sort of thing that only happens among Rogue Traders, and possibly the segmentum fleets of particularly wealthy regions. The plans for the Ravening Glare are significantly more absurd.

Nevertheless, the moment arrives and we follow the Vow through a rather slow inverted rolling scissors. Not  _ really _ something capable of keeping the bombers at bay, but it  _ does _ really throw off their attack runs as their selected targets are now universally on the other side. They recover quickly enough, but several  _ do _ go dead-stick during all that, the pilots sailing away through the void with no hope of a friendly rescue. The defense grids of every ship in the fleet come alive as the attackers enter their range, fingers of light stabbing into the darkness in search of prey. Some find it, most don't, but the attackers numbers are still much reduced.

As they regroup for another pass, another few bombers go dead-stick, suddenly failing to maneuver with their fellows despite being outside point-defense range. Squadrons of bombers don't have the same kind of single-failure-points as a frigate, so she's only eliminating two or three at a time while the turrets scythe them down by the squadron. They're  _ trying _ to go for the Writ's belly, multiple futures hold the echoes of grain spilling out through gaping rents should we expose ourselves like that. Classic interdiction tactics that would have worked  _ much better _ against the group of Carracks originally slated to make this run.

Except…  _ they _ wouldn't have been inbound on  _ this _ vector. What's going on? I push the question aside, interrogation of the floaters might get answers  _ later _ . For now I focus on helping the helmsman keep the belly of the Writ as close to the belly of the Vow as we possibly can without colliding, making it a near impossibility for the bombers to get a clear run. Picking individual futures out of their swirling mass is easier than it would have been a year ago, but I'm still very much a learner, so I'm glad that's Silvea's job. Echoes of pain and death ripple across space and time to confuse things enough when just looking for the  _ big _ things, and Bombers are harder to track than torpedoes.

Again and again they try to make their runs, defensive fire driving them off and destroying several each time, though not before they loose a few of their bombs and rockets. Finally they run low enough on fuel and ships to turn back, leaving behind a few dozen ejected pilots, an excellent opportunity to gain intel even if they've been given the mushroom treatment.

…

…

"Well, at least we won." I remark in relief when they don't return, disconnecting the cable from my neck and setting it back on the hook at the station. The light on the clip illuminates to indicate the self-sterilization cycle starting… though how many in this millennium have any idea what the light actually  _ means _ I'm not sure.

"Did we?" The Captain asks. "Look at the Bootknife." Sure enough the ship's spewing fire from a number of holes. They're still maneuvering with the fleet, but the prow lance is more or less gone, as are most of the defensive turrets.

"When they realized they couldn't split our holds…" I'd noticed it getting easier at one point, but hadn't realized it was the pressure  _ shifting _ instead of  _ disappearing _ . Not that I could have done anything about it, but- Her spire appears intact at least, I'd like to think I would have noticed  _ that _ . "That repair bill is going to be substantial."

"It will."

"What about the butcher's bill?"

"No word yet."

* * *

With the immediate threat fought off, and the comet-base obliterated by long-range lance fire, it's time to go back to bed… Well, one little thing first. Tapping my comm-bead, I open it to the encrypted channel shared with my women. It's the channel reserved for House Cassini really, just with different encryption. "Thalia." I send as I approach the door to the Navigator's quarters, waving at where I know Jezmine's hidden near the ceiling. "Well done, I'll see you at three quarters second shift."

  
**Segmentum Obscurus**  
**Koronus Sector**  
**Koronus Expanse**  
**Winterscale's Realm**  
**Lucian's Breath**  
**Heavy Transport - Writ of Surplus**  
**7.946.736M41**  
**Expected Orbital Insertion - 7.957.736M41**  
Despite one of my retainers making the capture of prisoners possible, I'm left frustratingly by the wayside with regards to whatever information may have been extracted in the past several hours. I'm not alone in this either, as far as I can tell it's literally  _ just  _ Winterscale getting the information from his interrogators, with the prisoners having been delivered to the Emperor's Vow while I went back to bed. "...Understood." There really isn't much more to say on the matter, so I simply turn and leave, making my way to a corridor that has windows looking out on the rest of the task group.

Under the circumstances Silvea and Graig have little time to spend training Marcella and me, not with the spectre of combat hanging over everyone's head. The Drusus' Bootknife has been taken under tow by the Vow, immense cables snugging the frigate up against the larger ship's belly, her reactor cold and dark so there's no risk of any detonation. Umbilicals strung between the ships take care of life support, and theoretically enough power for point defense turrets, but the little frigate is in no condition to take part in any battles now.

"Cousin." I turn to look and find one of the Navigators formerly stationed aboard the Bootknife has come to the same window. I'm not super familiar with Terrace Cassini, despite sailing the Warp with him at the helm of an escort for months at a time. I know how he tends to maneuver in the Empyrian, sudden jerky movements that still end up on the correct course, like everything's calculated ahead of time. Great in a little destroyer, not so much on larger ships. He's actually taller than I am, long gangly limbs that move much the same way he maneuvers his ship, and I'm reminded a bit of a spider.

"They let you out of the infirmary."

"They did." He sighs, hunching down to put himself on the same level, leaning against the bulkhead around the viewport. "It hurts to see her like this, even if we made Aspyce pay for the privilege."

"Any estimates on the repairs yet?"

"The body of the lance is fine, but all the emitters and directors are  _ gone _ . Calligos wants to put Sunhammer pattern emitters on her instead of just replacing the Titanforges. Not great for escort work, but The Lathes are a  _ lot closer _ than any other forgeworld."

"I haven't had much experience with either, so I'll take your word for it."

"The defense turrets also need replacing, Captain Maston wants Steel Storm pattern flak turrets, not sure if we'll get them, but they would have been useful a few hours ago."

"They would indeed." Conversation kind of trails off there for a while, the both of us simply staring out across the void between ships, at where his home is currently a cratered wreck that only looks a little bit worse than it is.

Eventually I ask another question. "Any word on who spent more money in that fight?"

"We did, but not by much. Letting the cargo through is probably more expensive for her than the bombers."

"At least there's that. Will the Bootknife be warp-ready when we leave?"

"No."

* * *

"You're looking a lot more awake." I comment upon returning to my quarters. Marcella is back in her armor, but apparently found time to bathe and freshen up after finishing her interrupted sleep.

"I am." She answers simply, snuggling into my arms with the clatter of carapace armor pieces knocking together. The belly section of the armor doesn't seem so oversized anymore, and I knock my knuckles on it playfully with my right hand while hugging her with my left. "Stop that! You'll wake her up!" She scolds, knocking my hand away.

"She's not already?" I ask teasingly, bringing my now unoccupied hand up to wrap around the back of her neck and scratch around her implant socket. The back of our carapace arches up a little to protect the back of the neck, but reaching around from the front still works fine.

"Hnnn.-" *-clack* Her head leans forward and bonks her helmet on my breastplate, giving me better access. I bring my other hand into it and turn it into a full on neck massage, fingers working across knots and making them go away, then seeking out all the spots that make her shiver in delight… Well, all the ones I can reach at the moment. After a while she ends up using her hands to hang onto the buckles at my shoulders, holding herself up while the rest of her goes limp under that treatment, little sighs of pleasure assuring me that I'm doing an  _ excellent _ job of it. Eventually I trail off and just hug her though, pulling her up to stand straight for a better angle. "Mrrr…" I laugh at the little pouting noise.

"All worked up and stuck in armor?"

"Hmph."

"Cum for me, silently." I whisper in her ear, and she does so beautifully, trembling in my arms and forcing me to hold her up for a bit while her knees take a short leave of absence.

"I wish I could do that to you." She whispers back once she recovers her wits.

"Might get a bit messy."

"And I don't?" Her 'indignation' isn't terribly convincing while she's still smiling.

"True, but that happens even if I just tease you.  _ That _ is something you  _ can _ and  _ do _ do to me, it's just less messy."

Pulling her head away from my chest, she looks up at me with eyes full of mischief, and slides one of her hands down to grip the codpiece of my carapace. I raise my eyebrows with a grin, and she starts tapping her fingers on the surface, a slight vibration making it through but no more. It's not  _ supposed _ to let impacts through, but there's only so stiff it can be while still being able to walk. It doesn't help that turning her to putty and then watching her climax already has me rock-hard.

"Minx." She just grins more and switches to rubbing her fingers back and forth, something that  _ doesn't _ carry through the incredible shrinking armor. "Are you  _ trying _ to provoke me into bending you over the couch?"

"No? I can't bend over the arm like that now." She gestures at her belly and laughs, then sighs. "I am  _ quite _ ready for her to be out."

"Only a few more weeks."

  
  


  
**Segmentum Obscurus**  
**Koronus Sector**  
**Koronus Expanse**  
**Winterscale's Realm**  
**Lucian's Breath - Orbit**  
**Heavy Transport - Writ of Surplus**  
**7.957.736M41**  
"Victory Station certainly shows its age." I remark as we draw closer. "Was it this battered last time you saw it?"

"No." Silvea answers. "But it has been under siege for a good portion of that time. Their void shield projectors look undamaged, as do the weapons. Scarred armor isn't something to worry about."

"I suppose." As we get closer, the nose of the Writ dips down to slide beneath the station, the ship rolling on its back to present its belly, and the hangars containing the enormous cargo shuttles, to the battlestation. As we're halfway through the roll, I catch sight of the Emperor's Vow out the viewport we're standing by, the battleship dipping down even further to take up position in our shadow, where the station cannot fire without striking us. Every approach is covered by row after row of hatred ready to dispense. "Surprised she's not attacking the actual transfer."

"If she can't remove Victory Station when it's alone, what chance would she have now?"

"Fair enough… Are you going to be taking the additional collars over soon?" After Thalia's performance in the fight, I was actually a little surprised the Novator didn't request more collars  _ sooner _ for the house astropaths. She still hasn't requested enough for her full choir, not without dipping into the set she's already been given for the Ravening Glare, but I doubt she will… Well, the collars are interchangeable, so there's no real reason to avoid it aside from appearances.

"Once the maneuvering is finished."

"Ok." I suppose I should be ready for the additional psykers in the interface. I wonder what they're like? Most of the house simply uses the choir of the ship where they're stationed when they need to communicate, and I… Well, I might have met these ones before, but I don't have clear memories of it. As Novator she has her own choir who shares the choir chamber on the Vow, as part of the contract we have with Winterscale that also has her serving as the navigator for his flagship.

Well… That last is more that she won't let anyone else have the Throne while she's there. Rank hath its privileges and all.

* * *

  
**Segmentum Obscurus**  
**Koronus Sector**  
**Koronus Expanse**  
**Winterscale's Realm**  
**Lucian's Breath - Orbit**  
**Heavy Transport - Writ of Surplus**  
**7.958.736M41**  
"FRAK!!!" Normally when a soldier says that while firing their weapon, their  _ allies _ aren't going to be laughing, but here? Now? Oh hell yes. It's mostly schadenfreude, but being Gabby's practice dummies while trying to get our  _ own _ practice in on the range is an exercise in frustration and situational awareness. Catching a las-pack mid-air and slotting it back into the gun is a skill we're all learning rather quickly, and we've learned to keep a thumb on the safety lever while firing. It's in easy reach with a correct grip when it's on 'fire', though a bit harder to reach to pull it off of 'safe' when it's in that position. A nearly unsurpassed awareness of our weapons has resulted from the exercise, even after only a few days.

I've also received requests from every member of Ligia's squad for MIU firing implants and adapted guns, so that the safety is in their thoughts instead of their hands.

I've even approved them, though I haven't informed them that they'll be training against  _ Thalia _ once they've been obtained and installed. I'm sure they'll absolutely love  _ that _ .

My own training has shifted as well under Gabrielle's reign of annoyance. It adds a time pressure to take the shot that I didn't have before. Take too long and she'll do something to my weapon, and throw off my aim. Considering that time spent carefully lining up a shot is a luxury I'm unlikely to have in any real combat, it's a wonderful addition… even if I'm learning new and interesting imprecations to throw her direction.

Harley, of course, is getting the worst of it since it's throwing off my shattered target numbers in unpredictable ways.

* * *

  
**Segmentum Obscurus**  
**Koronus Sector**  
**Koronus Expanse**  
**Winterscale's Realm**  
**Lucian's Breath - Orbit**  
**Heavy Transport - Writ of Surplus**  
**7.972.736M41**  
Despite the slowly fraying nerves of the Masters of Auspex across the fleet, the unloading has gone unmolested. The looming threat of lance and las batteries in abundance across a hemisphere enough to keep even the ground-bound Chorda forces heads down while we're in system. Victory station is always here and always watchful, but it can't go around mountains to get a better line of fire if it wants to. The Vow  _ can _ , and the couple frigates she has protecting her investment on the surface currently are hiding on the other side of the planet, knowing that they'll get swatted if they peek over the horizon for a moment.

For Marcella and me it's actually a fairly relaxing week. Aside from a routine checkup with Eta that has my wife squirming desperately with an overfull bladder again, the sensor pressed tightly against it making things  _ far _ worse. Only the images of little Adella showing in the holotank make it worthwhile… Until she kicks out, squashing poor Marcella's bladder between her foot and the ultrasound sensor. "Gah!" Her face pinches inward when that happens, and she kicks Eta's mechadendrite away, cutting off the image. Her irises also close the little they still can, thin green bands surrounding the gaping pools of darkness her pupils have become. She gives Eta a pleading look. "Are we done?"

"With the ultrasound. Relieve yourself and return, there's ##more I need to measure." My wife nearly throws herself off the exam table and whimpers when the jolt coming up through her feet squashes her bladder, then slowly races away with what's best described as a mincing waddle on her way to the lavatory.

"Laughing would be unwise." Eta says helpfully as the door closes, and I hang my head for a moment, my expression having betrayed me.

"So what do you need to measure?" She just smiles, knowing I could order her to tell me, but also that I won't. The smug rolling off her is much easier to detect now, with her face growing more expressive over time as she relearns how to emote. Leaning in close, I grin and whisper "You are to climax intensely, with no outward signs, when you finish telling me why you're so smug." Her grin becomes a little fixed, and then melds into a deliberately serene look. The classic 'butter wouldn't melt in her mouth' expression while we wait for Marcella to return.

…

"You look a lot more comfortable." I pull 'Cella into a hug when she gets back, and enjoy her contented sigh.

"...What did you do?" She asks a few seconds after I let go, her gaze fixed on Eta's visage.

"What makes you ask that?" My teasing tone confirms her allegation, and she rolls her eyes, irises currently almost invisible.

"Please have a seat." Eta indicates the table again, and I help 'Cella climb up. She's short enough to make it slightly awkward to sit on it while heavily pregnant. "Now close your eyes." Just her eyelids are apparently insufficient, as Eta also places her hand across them for a somewhat surreal minute of waiting.

"Now, #hold still, open your eyes, and keep## them open." With that she abruptly shines a bright light directly in her face. She flinches back but manages to keep her eyes open, and the barely-there ring of green contracts down significantly.

"Why!?" She asks plaintively.

"The darkening of a Navigator's eyes is ##well documented. You are #varying from pattern."

"What!?"

"Oh?"

"Your scelera have begun to retreat, but your irises ##retain their color-" Eta goes silent for a moment before continuing, and I grin knowing why. "-I will need to document this." I blink a few times at the news, then laugh and grab Marcella's shoulders to lean her closer for a passionate kiss, one hand sliding up to cup the back of her head instead as I go.


	4. Flame

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter, as you may notice, is not yet complete. It will probably see a number of edits to add more material as I work. I generally write 1-2k words at a stretch, so expect it to grow in chunks that size until it reaches roughly the same length as the other chapters.
> 
> Also, if anyone knows how to make ruby text work on AO3, that'd be great.

**Segmentum Obscurus**  
**Koronus Sector**  
**Koronus Expanse**  
**Winterscale's Realm**  
**Lucian's Breath - Orbit**  
**Heavy Transport - Writ of Surplus**  
**7.975.736M41**  
**Scheduled Warp Dive 9.035.737M41**

The holds are not _entirely_ empty as we make our way back out to the mandeville point, but what's there is mostly hard vacuum to keep both us and the cargo safe from accidents. Nepthium is horrible stuff on its own, even before being mixed with promethium. Personally I suspect it's one of the secret ingredients of Phosphex, and I'm quite glad the full recipe is lost to history. This stuff is quite enough to be unnerving even encased in flame-proof casks, in hard vacuum, more than a kilometer from my bed.

"You worry too much."

"I _really_ don't think so." I respond, hugging 'Cella tighter around her ribcage and dragging her backwards a few centimeters. She squeaks a little and then snuggles back against me, just a dark shape in the dim nighttime lighting of our room. It's probably pretty well lit by her standards by now, but I'm mostly blind. "We're down an escort, _and_ we're carrying explosives instead of grain. Even once we enter the warp we're not out of the woods, Aspyce _shouldn't_ know where to find Calligos' ammunition factorum, but after that strike on the way in I'm not betting on it."

"Go pray about it… _tomorrow_."

"Yeah… Sleep well." and like that she's out like a light, leaving me alone with my thoughts for another however long, spinning in circles like I haven't in quite a while. The presence of nephium is unnerving in ways that even the warp fuel for the drive isn't. The familiar danger more welcome than the new and unfamiliar I suppose. There's no logical reason to be more frightened of it than the swarms of warp predators we'll face the moment we jump, I'm just accustomed to the latter.

Marcella gets to cheat, by way of feeling safe with me even without orders to that effect. It's heartwarming, but not very reassuring in the middle of the night when I can't sleep.

I'm… not sure how long it is before sleep finally takes me. Far too long is all I can say.

* * *

**Segmentum Obscurus**  
**Koronus Sector**  
**Koronus Expanse**  
**Winterscale's Realm**  
**Lucian's Breath - Orbit**  
**Heavy Transport - Writ of Surplus**  
**7.995.736M41**  
**Scheduled Warp Dive 9.035.737M41**

The vivid blue of Edith's eyes aren't visible at the moment, her head thrown back and eyes closed, breath hissing through her teeth and hands waving indecisively by her shoulders, not certain whether she wants to force my hands away or encourage what I'm doing. I don't understand _why_ she enjoys this, but the alternating high-pitched and guttural moans escaping between the hisses tell their own story. Her nipples are pinched fairly hard between my fingers and thumbs, twisted and pulled upward until she's standing on her toes. Carefully gauging her reactions, I roll them back the other direction and pull a squeal from her lips. Her hips involuntarily thrust forward, spoiling her balance and forcing me to let her back down to her feet so I don't actually end up holding her full weight.

Her knees fold too, and I let go to grab her under the armpits instead, lowering her carefully to leave her on her back, shuddering her way through a clearly intense orgasm. Her hands fly to sooth her crushed nips, voice crying out with the return of bloodflow to insulted and sensitive tissues. There's nothing that can help at the moment though, the pain is already arriving and taking her breath away. Kneeling next to her I reach down for her engorged lips and slip my fingers between them to feel how slick she is, hooking my fingers upward to send her flying again. "Pinch your nipples as hard as you can enjoy. Twist and pull them too." She shrieks when her hands are forced to switch from protecting to tormenting, but the way she clenches around my fingers tells the true story.

Looking up at Marcella watching from the edge of our bed, I grin at her while continuing to pump my fingers, keeping them curled up against the front of Edith's pussy. After a bit her climax tapers off, and her fingers loosen around her poor nipples. That's when I lift her near leg and swivel it over my head to land on the other side, pulling her close as I'm now kneeling between her thighs and getting myself lined up. I wait for her to return to her senses before pulling her fully onto my length. It's not a great position for thrusting, but we're both impossibly fit so it still works just fine. As I start to move she realizes I haven't rescinded that order though, and resumes pinching and twisting. It's a lot gentler now, her lightly bruised nipples far more sensitive to such abuse now and already aching.

The way she writhes before me is sublime, twisting and arching her back to escape her own fingers, or to present herself to them, it's hard to tell. The clenching when she reaches her peak is equally stimulating, and it doesn't take all that long for me to flood her depths, hands on her hips pulling her tight against me and driving deep to press against the back of her clenching tunnel. She's on her third right now, and it's really starting to show in her breathing. As the pleasure fades and the pounding in my ears subsides, I somewhat awkwardly clamber to my feet, dragging Edith along for the ride by her hips and leaving her upside down while I move her to the bed where Marcella can have access.

The order to pinch and twist and pull is still in effect, but she's getting gentler and gentler as faint bruising starts to show. Even without the collar she'd only be sore a couple days, and the results must be worthwhile or she wouldn't have asked for it again.

Sliding off the bed to kneel between Edith's legs, Marcella leans in and moans sensually, shuddering as she takes the first lick. The play order to climax whenever my seed enters her body is still in effect a couple months later, and still every bit as hot now as it was then. Watching her ~~spontaneously~~ climax with every lick is absolutely gorgeous. As it goes on and Edith becomes ever more sensitive, her fingers eventually fall back to gently stroking her abused nipples. It's literally _just_ her nips that she likes having treated like that, but I'm happy to provide.

* * *

**Segmentum Obscurus**  
**Koronus Sector**  
**Koronus Expanse**  
**Winterscale's Realm**  
**Lucian's Breath - Orbit**  
**Heavy Transport - Writ of Surplus**  
**7.1000.736M41**  
**Scheduled Warp Dive 9.035.737M41**

The combination of a three-fraction-day and a thousand-fraction-year leaves a singular trailing fraction that doesn't really fit. The thousandth fraction could easily be treated like any other, but then the day-timing would be thrown off, with the first fraction of the new year rotating through morning, evening, and night on a three year cycle. Not that it actually fits on any planet with a year length different from Terra, and even the day-length doesn't _quite_ fit that of the birthplace of mankind.

So instead we just have a 'new year' fraction dedicated to The Emperor, minimal duty shifts for those actually on duty, with prayer and celebrations for those not. It's an auspicious time for many things, though the vox message from the Emperor's Vow is _not_ one of them as far as I'm concerned. The succinct Have you seen to your duty yet? from the Novator rather spoils my mood. Yes, we've departed Lucain's Breath, but we haven't even entered The Warp yet woman!... Sigh. She's right about being an auspicious time to conceive children though, mostly because the crew _believes_ it is, and our kind are intrinsically linked to The Warp.

Heading back into the main room of the Navigator's Quarters, I proceed through into the dining room where Marcella is waiting for me at the door while Silvea and Graig are at the table, not having risen to receive the message delivered to me.

"What's wrong?" my wife asks as I approach, the look on my face apparently rather revealing. I flip the data-slate with it's terse message around to show Marcella and she sighs too.

"You don't have to be there." I offer, but she shakes her head and takes a deep breath.

"No, it's… I'd rather be there than not."

"Allright." Continuing on, I hold the chair for her to sit down again, and pass the slate over to Silvea as I take my own seat, the baked fish on my plate somehow a little less appealing than it was before I got up. I suppose I can _understand_ why the Novator did what she did, at least a little, but I still don't like it much.

"I see." I'm still not certain what more she may have discussed with Solana, but I do know she's not allowed to back out either. Despite getting what she wanted, the way it's happened has apparently put a bitter taste in her mouth.

…

…

Neither of us really wanted to do this in our own bedroom, maybe someday we'll _actually_ get over it, but for the moment the bath is the best location. Standing there next to the edge, wearing only my bathrobe, I feel incredibly self-conscious, particularly since Silvea apparently can't help her wandering eyes. It's an odd mix of anticipation and apprehension in the air despite the fact that we've seen each other nude, _here,_ many times before. The context is different now and there's no changing it back.

Finally Silvea's the first to drop her robe, the body beneath _far_ better than it once was, not a wrinkle in sight nor a scar to be found. She spreads her arms to the sides as though inviting me to look, and flares her wings for a moment, the skin membranes pulling out from her sides and down from the bottoms of her arms to stretch taut for a few seconds, and that unfair skill with women's bodies pipes up to tell me they're very sensitive to gentle touch.

Letting mine fall away as well, I'm subjected to her hungry gaze with nothing in the way. Not that she's exactly been _shy_ about looking… Well, _ever,_ but again the context makes all the difference. Marcella likewise drops her robe and Silvea glances over, but without the same hunger she has in her eyes when she looks at me. I could order her to think I'm ugly, but tests have shown I _can't_ order her to not desire me. That's the only exception we've found to the inviolable orders.

I help Marcella down the stairs into the bath first, while Silvea simply hops in herself, and then I join them while we all try to figure out what to say.

After a few minutes Silvea finally speaks up. "You'd never be able to tell _now_ , but Graig and I weren't each other's first choice. It _does_ get easier."

"Who was?" Marcella asks.

"Helios and Ellyn. They both perished in Aspyce's coup." She sighs. "Our own children fostered with them you know."

"You've mentioned." I interrupt. I've heard the story of _their_ passing before, and it's definitely not something to help the mood here and now. Vengeance isn't really a turn-on in this context… Maybe if I could enslave Aspyce herself, but not like this. I awkwardly reach out and hug my aunt, her youthened and improved body rather vibrant in my arms despite her mind being on memories of sorrow that I didn't mean to bring up. Well… I doubt 'Cella meant to bring them up either.

My aunt she may be, but my body only recognizes there's a healthy young woman in my arms, and I _am_ a teenager still. Erections are more a state of being for a teenage male than they are an event, so even if I'm still having doubts, my cock certainly isn't. I rise to the occasion and find myself pressing hard against her abdomen, prompting her to pull back and look down, one hand going to wrap around me. "It's one thing to see it from a distance…"

"It'll fit, the collars make sure of that if I don't specify otherwise."

"Right." Turning around in my arms, she steps forward and leans over the edge of the bath, presenting her pussy for my inspection. I'm sure it's fine, but the context once again kills the interest, at least for now. Instead I close my eyes and try to pretend it's… Thalia I'm fucking. They have a somewhat similar build, and as long as I don't wrap my hands around her waist I won't be thrown off by the tightly folded skin membrane being held against her sides… Yeah, that's not going to work, that sense for what women like the most is still insisting I tickle her wing-folds. Giving up on that approach, I take the last step forward and simply start plunging between her folds. She's warm and slick and responsive, already crying out as I slid my way inside.

Hands on her hips find her wings stretching out a little and then pulling back repeatedly with the rest of her squirming. Biting the bullet, I start running my fingers through the folds of her wings when they open up, letting them get trapped when they fold in against her sides again and sliding them up and down. She squeals loudly when I do that, and her tight sheath starts practically vibrating around me. The sounds also have the advantage of sounding _nothing_ like I usually hear out of her, which helps pretend it's not my aunt bent over the edge of the bath, my cock buried in her twat.

I have no real reason to hold back, so it doesn't really take that long to reach the edge, despite the awkwardness of the situation. It's not exactly a great climax, but it's a weight off my shoulders under the circumstances. The collars allow me to make _sure_ she catches on the first try, so this should be enough to satisfy the Novator.

Anything further will have to be because Silvea _actually_ managed to convince me.

 **Segmentum Obscurus**  
**Koronus Sector**  
**Koronus Expanse**  
**Winterscale's Realm**  
**Lucian's Breath**  
**Heavy Transport - Writ of Surplus**  
**7.003.737M41**  
**Scheduled Warp Dive 7.035.737M41**

The following morning is _incredibly_ awkward at the breakfast table. Well, for Marcella and I at least. Silvea seems to have put it behind her at least for now, though I guess if this actually _isn't_ the first time she's been ordered to fuck someone then it's understandable. I'd known intellectually that they were paired off by the genetors, just like Marcella and I, but I hadn't really thought about how if we were _lucky_ in our pairing, then that must mean that most couples _aren't_. Including our aunt and uncle.

She's right about being unable to tell _now_ though, even with her collar-enforced attraction to me, she's just as loving with Graig as ever, the long years of enduring the hazards of our station together having forged a relationship that seems to be weathering the current circumstances just fine. "I have scheduled an appointment with Eta for today." She announces casually, causing me to nearly choke on my kaf, a bit of the mildly caustic liquid making it up my nose.

"That was deliberate." I accuse between coughing, but she just smirks while 'Cella reaches over to hug me with one arm. I assume she's glaring at the source of my current misery, but I don't have the angle to say for certain. "Ahem… I doubt she'll be able to detect anything quite this soon."

"Oh? Do you mean to say you _didn't_ make use of the collar to increase my fertility?" Her teasing tone is back, if perhaps a little more forced than it has been in the past. "I assume I should begin consuming supplements immediately, on the assumption that I have caught." I sigh, and she adds "Unless you'd _like_ to do it again without being ordered?" I just give her a very flat look, bringing a slice of toast up to my mouth and taking an aggressively crunchy bite out of it in her general direction. "I won't bite." She smiles toothily and I just sag in my chair, having lost this duel. That mental image is just… yeah.

"That _would_ be a change." Graig comments as he lifts his kaf mug to his face. I give him a wide-eyed look and he shrugs. "I regenerate. A bitten shoulder heals in seconds, while you frequently have claw-marks in your back for days." Marcella whimpers a bit at that, the teasing _obviously_ directed at her since those marks are usually at her hands.

"R-right. Ah-" I turn to look at Silvea. "Don't bite me."

"Does this mean there will be an opportunity?"

"...no."

"Shame."

* * *

**Segmentum Obscurus**  
**Koronus Sector**  
**Koronus Expanse**  
**Winterscale's Realm**  
**Lucian's Breath - Mandeville Point**  
**Heavy Transport - Writ of Surplus**  
**7.036.737M41**

"Still think she can't see?" I ask cheerfully when Marcella curls around her belly as the ship enters the warp. She doesn't seem to be in any pain, but there's plenty of discomfort. My cheery tone earns me a solid backhanded thwap to the solar plexus, which I will admit I _entirely_ deserve. "Oof." I deadpan, wrapping my arms around her and kissing the top of her head. It's only half a minute or something before our daughter stops flailing around and she stands back straight again, looking up to glare at me with an expression promising later payback for my teasing.

Of course, I lean down to claim her lips in an attempt to make her forget she's irritated. It takes a minute, but eventually she relents and simply melts into the kiss, relaxing into my arms and allowing me to take much of her weight. Even heavily pregnant she's still light in my arms, benefits of enhanced strength, and so it's all upside for me. Trailing away from her lips I continue on along the edge of her jaw and back to the side of her neck where I apply a bit of suction and then bite down, just enough to make sure there's a mark there for a day or so. She moans in enjoyment as I do that, so I put another mark right below it before pulling away and standing up straight again.

"Do you think that makes everything better?"

"No, but it does make _many_ things better."

"Hmmph!" I lean down to kiss her nose when she finishes with that noise. I know it's not helping my case, but I can't _not_. As she wrinkles her nose I turn to look out the window, my Warp-Eye open wide and searching for anything trying to cause us problems. Off in the distance I can make out the Vow, predators already circling for any sign of weakness, undoubtedly a few having been devoured after the entry injured them in front of their fellows. Meanwhile our own entry seems to have gone nearly unremarked, with the predators only now turning in our direction to take a closer look.

"Did you notice anything odd in that entry Aunt?"

"Yours are similar." She points out. "I think they can't pinpoint our entry before it happens."

"That would make sense, if they can't see the hand on the controls."

* * *

**Segmentum Obscurus**  
**Koronus Sector**  
**Koronus Expanse**  
**Winterscale's Realm**  
**The Warp**  
**Heavy Transport - Writ of Surplus**  
**9.049.737M41**  
**Est Arrival at Winter's Heart manufactorum - 7.126.737M41**

Little-traveled routes are always a crapshoot, few eyes to chart what hazards may come, seldom passing to find the intermittent ones, and yet they have the flip-side advantage of being generally poor hunting grounds for the predators of the warp. Simple shortage of food will turn any number of predators against each other, keeping the numbers down. Even if those that remain are the most dangerous of the lot.

The damaged vane still looks worse than it is, and so they cluster around that section as we sail the Empyrean. Searching here and there around it to find a way inside. The dumb ones do at least, the brute-force types who just keep hammering away in the hopes of forcing their way through the weakened field. Of course, the field beneath is fully functional at this point, literally just the vane still operating below spec, and so it's no better a spot to try than any other.

It's annoying though, like a persistent itch in a single location while I'm connected to the Throne. The Writ would very much like them gone as well, just as she did for every voyage since the damage was done. Fortunately the warp itself along this line is calm, and so I can afford to spend the necessary attention soothing the spirit of the ship. She leans into it as I exert my will, like a dog leaning into its master. I can vaguely feel the enginseers monitoring the projector, poking and prodding the system and causing it to flutter in ways I'm not fully controlling. Countering it with the number eight vane is a bit tricky, but I manage to keep the turbulence to a- Well, not _quite_ the minimum, but low enough that most of the crew doesn't notice.

I know Graig is down there with them, his Eye providing them with data about the exact shape of the vane and exactly how everything is misaligned. Estimates have the repairs finally complete in another couple weeks, an event that can't come soon enough for our ride.

 **Segmentum Obscurus**  
**Koronus Sector**  
**Koronus Expanse**  
**Winterscale's Realm**  
**The Warp**  
**Heavy Transport - Writ of Surplus**  
**9.091.737M41**  
**Est Arrival at Winter's Heart manufactorum - 7.126.737M41**

"Even if I could give you ##medication to prevent them, I would not." Eta reaches out to hug Marcella with a few of her mechadendrites while she sighs. "Your body knows it will need those muscles soon, so it exercises them."

"But I can't sleep without-" She glances at me, and I see Eta nodding while 'Cella's eyes are turned away. The gesture continues when she turns back, but there's no relenting on the issue there.

"That you can sleep _with_ his help already places you in a## fortunate category. Soon enough you will be unable to sleep due to ##screams instead of contractions. Not something you should sleep through even if you could. However much you will #desire to."

"That will be Elodia's task." 'Cella answers succinctly. "Her schedule's already fixed so she's awake when we're asleep." Eta simply nods, making a few notes in Marcella's file. She's getting close to term, and the leadup is apparently rather uncomfortable. The actual birth _should_ be much simpler than most women experience, her collar ensuring everything's working correctly and increasing her elasticity to the very limits of womankind…

Well, maybe a little beyond that point even, but _that_ isn't something anyone beyond the two of us and Eta needs to know.

Taking pity on 'Cella, even, or maybe especially, if Eta can't do anything to help her with the current source of irritation, I hoist her into my arms and turn to the door. She's a lot heavier now, not that I'd actually _say_ that, but still well within the range I can easily carry with enhanced strength. She tucks her head in against my shoulder as I turn down the hallway, and grumbles something against my sleeve as I walk. "What was that?"

"Nothing…" She sighs.

"I'm sure."

* * *

**Segmentum Obscurus**  
**Koronus Sector**  
**Koronus Expanse**  
**Winterscale's Realm**  
**The Warp**  
**Heavy Transport - Writ of Surplus**  
**9.113.737M41**  
**Est Arrival at Winter's Heart manufactorum - 7.126.737M41**

"Trist… Trist! Wake up!"

"Hnn?" I blink a few times rather blindly, trying to figure out what's going on. Why am I awake when there's no alarms? Marcella is shaking my shoulder and the bed is wet. "Uh…" Rolling away from her, I fling an arm out to slap the light panel on the wall next to our bed. The room lights come on with their usual couple seconds of ramp-up for the middle of the night shift, and I turn back to look at my young wife. She's currently hissing through her teeth and curled around her belly with her head bent back to look up at me.

"I think it's time." My mind goes blank for a bit, just staring at her. _"CALL ETA!"_ Right, right, I can do that. Rolling the rest of the way out of bed, I awkwardly lunge across the room to my dresser where my comm-bead is sitting in the charging stand. Shoving it in my ear and wincing when it's upside down, I flick the activation control backwards to compensate for that.

"ETA!!!"

"Voice analysis indicates stress ##but not distress. I will be there shortly. Marcella is in perfect health, as is Adella. Everything will be as it should. ##Calm yourself." Eta's reassurance helps a bit, and from behind me I can pick up something that sounds like a complaint about me being more stressed out than she is… I doubt it, I'm just not bothering to hide it right now… Wait. Turning back to Marcella curled up on our currently soggy bed, I pull the comm-bead out of my ear and turn it right side up as I walk back over to her. Sitting down, I reach out and just start rubbing my hand along her spine, feeling the vertebrae and digging the heel of my hand in to one side of them for a few strokes, then switching to the other.

A minute or so later she cries out and curls tighter, clearly in some distress. Even if everything really is 'just fine', I still feel bad about it. I'd order her to not feel pain, but what if that blocks the pain of something _actually_ going wrong? What if- Ah. "Until Eta gets here you're not allowed to feel pain." It's like I flipped a switch, Marcella immediately relaxing the moment the command hits.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome."

…

When Eta shows up Marcella immediately tenses up again with a whine. The biologis looks at me with a raised eyebrow even as her mechadendrites swarm around Marcella to lift her onto the gurney for the trip to the medicae. Silvea's also caught wind of the event, and is standing in the doorway looking on.

"I used the collar to dampen her pain, but I didn't know if it might interfere with diagnostics or something."

There's a flash of movement out of the corner of my eye, and a distinctive clicking in the base of my skull as one of Eta's thinner mechadendrites on her head lashes out and hooks in to my MIU socket. "Please instructorder her to follow my instructions for the duration." And with that she disconnects, but keeps the handful of thinner mechadendrites wrapped around my head to pull me in for a quick kiss before she turns back to Marcella, the near-instantaneous request hidden in the rest of the gesture. I can only assume there's someone watching who's unaware of the inviolable orders, so I lean in and whisper in Marcellas ear to deliver the instruction.

"You need to ##relax for the moment." As she speaks, one of her other mechadendrites slithers around to Marcella's connector, presumably for both diagnostics and delivery of any further commands. "Lord Tristain, please make yourself decent and proceed to the Medicae." As she guides the gurney out of the room, I catch a glimpse of a couple attending nurses, explaining her cageyness with regards to the orders. Looking down at my bathrobe, I consider just saying 'heck with it' and going like this, Marcella's in a soaked nightgown after all.

...

...

It can't take me more than a minute to thrown on some clothes, not when I'm not bothering with all the frippery that's normally attached. My cuffs are un-linked, my vest is unbuttoned, my boots are tied very crooked… None of it matters really. Running through the hallways after them, I'm left waiting rather impatiently for the lift since it's presumably down a couple decks where the medicae is located. If I had some way to call it ahead of time I could have- Well, no reason not to re-tie one of my boots while I wait, just to have _something_ I can do.

"In a hurry milord?" Ligia's voice asks while I'm doing that, and I glance up to find her wearing her carapace over what looks like pajamas instead of the usual underlayment, hair undone. Harley was a bit more put-together, this having been her turn on the night shift, but she's gone ahead with Marcella.

"What does it look like?" I snark back, and return to tying my boot.

"You _have_ time milord. You won't miss her arrival by spending another five minutes."

"You're a little rumpled too."

"Yes, because I knew you would rush milord. So one of us had to do likewise."

When the lift arrives, I step in followed closely by Ligia, promptly kneeling again to take care of my other boot. "Think you know me that well do you?"

She laughs, leaning down to bring her head closer, lasgun hanging over her shoulder. "The rest of my squad is preparing with various degrees of thoroughness. If you'd taken another five minutes, you would have gotten Jezmine while I finished dressing properly."

"...You planned this."

"That is my duty... _milord_." The lilt she adds to the 'milord' leaves no doubt she means 'lover'. Boots re-tied, I stand back up, Ligia doing likewise, and with the lift empty except for the two of us I reach out to cup her cheek with my hand, letting my thumb trail along that oddly cute scar that pulls her lip ever so slightly. The sensation in that area returned a long time ago at this point, but the appearance and the texture remains. Jezmine's massive scars are basically gone as well, but it's leant truth to my words to her about actually _liking_ that scarred lip.

She gives me that crooked smile, and I smile back, starting to lean in only to be interrupted by the lift hissing slightly as it slows down. With that I'm back facing the door and waiting to rush out, not having forgotten why I'm in such a hurry. Not even with a lovely distraction. When the doors open I'm racing down the hallway, searching and failing to find a timeline to jump forward. Just as well, that's not a trick I'm great at yet, and Silvea isn't here to observe.

As I get closer to the medicae, the volume of people in the hallways increases a bit, forcing me to slow down lest I slam into someone and have to stop. Not _too_ much, I may not have as much practice as Marcella, but I can still dance between people at nearly full speed by slipping between where they _will_ be instead of being limited to where they are. I'm vaguely aware of how alarming the crew finds it when I do this, lacking the grace Marcella shows to make it _seem_ natural. Behind me Ligia is left struggling to keep up… at all.

She's undoubtedly going to be grumpy about it later.

The door thankfully opens just as fast as normal, and I restrain myself a bit once I'm actually in Eta's domain. Command her I may be able to, but pissing off your doctor is never a good idea. "That was fast." Marcella greets, sweat already beading across her forehead. I just shrug, heading over to the provided stool where I can sit and let her attempt to crush my hand. I've never been clear on why that bit's traditional, but it is.

Maybe I shouldn't have given her the enhanced musculature in her hands just yet?

…

…

…

My hand is extremely bruised by the time Marcella relaxes after the final push, but in all fairness I probably had the easy side of it even so. Watching her settings as events progressed, Eta played them like an instrument, adjusting various things I have almost no understanding of to ensure the process was as smooth as possible. Marcella's pain response was dulled but not eliminated for much of the time, presumably for good reason, but that doesn't do much for the exhaustion.

As Eta carries Adella off to take whatever readings she needs before returning her, Marcella finally lets go of my hand with her own shaking digits. Holding them up and staring at them, she just has a wide-eyed expression for a while before starting to laugh and turning her hand to show me. Seeing the matching bruises on her hand I can't help joining her laughter. We'll both be healed soon enough, and it'll make a great story later on. At least she didn't break either of our fingers.

…

When Eta returns with our daughter, I get my first look of her with all the blood and goop cleaned off, all wrinkly and precious in a blanket embroidered with the Cassini crest. "Milady." Eta greets as she presents our daughter to her mother. "Milord."

She has a headband on currently to keep her from accidentally Glaring at anyone who can't shrug it off, but her baby-blues are clear and bright… and maybe just a hint of green already? That might just be bias talking, but she definitely has Marcella's eye-shape. As 'Cella takes her from Eta and holds her close, they both start crying for presumably different reasons. Marcella with happiness, Adella with hunger?

Pulling aside her nightgown, 'Cella brings our daughter closer to her nipple, and when she feels the warmth and softness the tiny girl starts searching around with mouth open, latching on when she finds the nipple and starting to suck greedily. I'm sure the expression of wonder on my face reflects that on Marcella's, the vision of perfection before me setting my heart in my throat in a good way. I want to- I want-

I start laughing, the joy pouring out unstoppably as I lean in and put an arm around Marcella's shoulders, prodding Adella's tiny hand with one index finger, looking at the positively diminutive fingernails that are still just perfect even at that size.

"She's beautiful Milord." Ligia found time at some point to trade off and come back in proper uniform, rather unfair of her really.

" _They're_ beautiful." I correct absently, turning back to stare at my family.

"Of course milord."

Adella's first meal only takes a few minutes, her tiny stomach filled up in short order from her mother's breast. She doesn't even need to switch sides before simply falling asleep… At least until Marcella tries to cover her breast again, at which point the texture change, or something, wakes her up with an unhappy cry. "Really?" Pulling her gown aside again, she lets Adella snuggle in against her skin and the crying stops almost immediately. When that works she looks over at me with a wry expression and declares "She's her father's daughter."

Laughing quietly, I lean in to kiss my wife on the lips, and then the back of my daughter's head. She only has short little wisps of hair, but they're visible against her pale skin with their darker color. It's hard to say just yet, but it looks like she's going to have her mother's hair too… My ears though. I'd love to hold her, but right now it seems that even though she's sleeping, she's _very_ insistent on staying against her mother's skin. The picture they present does make up for the delay at least somewhat, and I'm certain there will be many chances later. For now I'll just sit here and watch her sleep until it's time for my shift. In a few days I have no doubt little Adella will be joining us in the spire, much like the flesh-eyes need bright light and long sightlines to mature properly, so too does the Warp Eye need _The Warp_. Even while traveling the immaterium, staying forever 'belowdecks' would be akin to remaining forever in the shade. A nearsighted Navis may as well be crippled, and that's not something either Marcella or I will allow.

Every so often she nuzzles against Marcella some more, one arm waving around aimlessly, having escaped her blanket wrapping somewhere along the way. Eventually she finds a lock of 'Cella's hair and manages to tangle her fingers in it with her uncoordinated attempts to grab it in her sleep. The pulling that follows has my wife trying to disentangle those tiny fingers without waking her up, but it doesn't work very well. My stifled chuckling earns a glare, followed by a pout. "Eta can probably help."

"So go get her." She whispers back with pleading eyes.

"But she _likes_ your hair. I can't blame her." The pouting intensifies, and then Adella tugs on her hair again and the pout becomes a wince. "I'll go find her." She can't have gone far. And indeed she hasn't, simply being two rooms down prodding some gunnery lieutenant's shoulder where it's rather badly bruised. "Ouch."

"Yeah…" He glances over at me, then thinks better of it when the movement puts tension on that shoulder. "I don't _think_ I broke anything, but-"

"##Correct. Numerous minor muscle tears are present, no sparring for thirty fractions above quarter speed, no throws at any speed." One of her mechadendrites abruptly stabs the man with a rather _large_ needle right in the middle of the bruising, eliciting a loud yell of pain. After a couple seconds though he's quiet again and gingerly testing the now-unresponsive joint.

"What was that?" He asks.

"Muscle #relaxant. Go to bed." With that she turns away from him and heads over to me. "What did you need milord?"

"Marcella needs help with some tiny fingers tangled in her hair." I can't keep the grin off my face when I tell her about it, and her matching reply speaks volumes as well. Brushing past me, she heads into the room where Marcella and Adella are still laying on the bed, and reaches out with her mechadendrites. Thirty centimeters or so get cut off the end of 'Cella's mane, and quickly braided into a little hoop with a good ten centimeters hanging free, before 'Cella even has time to complain.

Really though, it's a week's growth or something like that with the collar active, so no big loss. Adella on the other hand is quickly persuaded to grab the new toy instead of her mother's currently-attached hair. "You are not the #first new mother to discover this ##problem." Eta explains as she carefully swaps out the locks of hair in Adella's grip. The fine precision mechadendrites standing in for her hair making it much easier.

"I need some of those."

"They require the true flesh." Leaning in, Eta nuzzles little Adella gently, her gleaming nose soft enough to actually perform the action, unlike the face-shell she used to have. "Perhaps one day Tristain will be permitted such an honor, as he is already blessed by the Omnissiah, but that is something for another decade." For some reason the _look_ she gives me after saying that has substantial heat to it. Her eyes are a little hard to read normally with all the sub-lenses embedded in them, but somehow _that_ comes through.

"-Ulp." She smiles when I gulp theatrically. "We'll see… Do the houses aligned with the Mechanicus even get those?"

"Some."

* * *

**Segmentum Obscurus**  
**Koronus Sector**  
**Koronus Expanse**  
**Winterscale's Realm**  
**The Warp**  
**Heavy Transport - Writ of Surplus**  
**9.115.737M41**  
**Est Arrival at Winter's Heart manufactorum - 7.126.737M41**

The Writ seems to sense my ongoing joy when I connect to the throne. It's certainly my most prominent emotion, right above the desire to be with them right now. Marcella is sleeping however, as is Adella… hopefully. If not then I expect Elodia is singing to her, wrapping her in His Light as she does. Either way, it's on me to guide them safely through the warp for the next shift. The great machine spirit leans into the connection when I settle back against the throne, the few remaining damage reports from the number seven vane seeming to fade just a little until I actively prod it to let me feel how it's currently moving… It's actually _not_ moving right now, the projector locked down while some of the actuators are being replaced. Important to know, even if I'm a little preoccupied.

Outside the windows of the spire, I can see shoals of warp fauna continuing their eternal search for weaknesses in the gellar field. The vast majority are no threat to me or mine even should it fall, but even now I can see a few who would be a substantial problem. A flick of the number three vane tags one of them, encouraging it to back off for a while. None of the others are near enough to something I can hit them with though, so they get to continue their harassment.

…

…

"Nephew!" The call from the staircase has me glancing over before returning my attention to The Warp. The Emperor's Vow ahead of us is following a subtle current I didn't know existed along this route, and keeping on their wake is a bit trickier than usual as a result.

"You're early."

"I'll take over, they're both awake." Well, twist my arm then. The smile that breaks out on my face gets a laugh from the man still cresting the top of the stairs. He's going to be a minute getting into position, but I go ahead and stand up, hitting the control to get the throne itself to tilt back and up out of the way for his body plan. I can Navigate standing for a minute no problem.

 _Not_ breaking decorum by sprinting through the bridge is a difficult task once Graig is connected to the throne. I nod to Captain Thorne on the way past, getting a nod in return, and once I'm through the bulkhead behind her command throne I go ahead and break in to a run. Edith and Harley's laughter as they start running after me registers, but I can't find it in myself to care at the moment. Let them laugh, it sounds happy anyway. The hallway leading up to the bridge itself is fairly long and free of obstructions, designed to deny cover to boarders. Here and now it's conveniently easy to run down.

Not quite skidding into the lift, I hit the button for the officer's quarters as my guards run in after me. None of us are breathing hard after a short run like that, but my heart rate is up… Not sure that's the run though. "Something funny ladies?"

"If I were the betting type-" Edith and I laugh when Harley starts her sentence like that. "-I'd say you're a little excited."

"Mmm-Hmm… Are you in the red right now?"

"No sir."

"Good for you."

When I finally manage to reach our chamber, I find Marcella sitting on the loveseat with Adella in her arms, an ecstatic smile on her face as she looks down at our daughter's face. Hurrying over I merely nod to Elodia as she hops up to get out of the way and take the seat next to my wife. "Here." She greets, tilting Adella up so her face is pointed at me. "This is your daddy. Isn't he handsome?" Wide eyes stare at me, and her forehead scrunches a bit under the headband, probably trying to open her third eye for a better look. She's going to be stuck with the thing for a _while_ whenever normal humans are around, and I remember clearly how annoying it is.

Reaching out, I stroke her cheek with the backs of my fingers, gently gliding across the literally baby-soft skin. One arm around 'Cella, one to play with our daughter, booping her nose, stroking the downy soft hair on her head, letting her try to grab my finger. She's not great at the whole manual dexterity thing yet, but she tries and it's adorable. After a while… I couldn't even give an estimate how long, 'Cella speaks up. "You hold her."

"Uh, what's the right way to-" And Elodia is there, positioning my arms correctly before Marcella hands her over.

"There is no one 'right way' milord." She gently reassures me as my daughter's weight settles in my arms. "As long as you support her head."

"Oh."

"In half a year she will be able to do that herself." I'm barely listening, too absorbed in holding my daughter in my arms. She's… _perfect_. Marcella takes the opportunity to lean into my side and have her turn stroking her cheeks and hair, booping her nose gently, getting her finger grabbed. She pulls the braided hoop of hair from somewhere and dangles it against Adella's tiny fingers. In seconds she's managed to sink them into the soft strands and get them thoroughly tangled.

"She's her father's daughter."

"Well, you _do_ have amazing hair." I answer, turning my head to kiss the top of hers. When I turn my head back I get a kiss on the cheek, and she goes back to resting her head on my shoulder.

Of course, eventually our peaceful moment of joy is interrupted by the focus of it. Adella gets hungry, which makes her grumpy, and when I don't hand her over to someone with milk soon enough she starts wailing. There's something deeply unsettling about hearing her cry, something that has never been there hearing other people's children cry. She's _my_ daughter and she's _crying_ and that's _very very wrong!!!_ I freeze up a bit, but Elodia simply plucks her from my arms and moves her over to Marcella as my wife pulls the neck of her dress aside.

A bit of rooting around and Adella manages to latch on, quieting down quickly once she's being fed. 'Cella is still leaning against me so I'm stuck for the moment, but that's fine. Grinning, I murmur quietly. "I'm a little jealous of her." with a teasing tone.

Marcella snorts, and even with her face hidden from me I can _feel_ her eyes rolling. "After I run out of first milk. Eta says it's important for her."

"Is that why Elodia isn't feeding her yet?"

Marcella nods. "Only a few days, apparently it makes her more resistant to disease." In a galaxy where _nurgle_ is a thing, yeah, I can definitely agree that's super important… _Sigh._ "What?" Marcella asks.

"Trying _not_ to think about what Solana said."

"Oh."

* * *

**Segmentum Obscurus**  
**Koronus Sector**  
**Koronus Expanse**  
**Winterscale's Realm**  
**The Warp**  
**Heavy Transport - Writ of Surplus**  
**9.121.737M41**  
**Est Arrival at Winter's Heart manufactorum - 7.126.737M41**

Up in the Navigator's Spire, Adella looks around at the lurid twisting glare of the immaterium uncomprehending eyes wide. As 'Cella pulls her headband off, our daughter's Warp Eye immediately snaps open and looks out on our domain for the first time unimpeded… Well, mostly unimpeded, she's sheltered from the worst of it by our souls pressing back on even the little that makes it through the windows, but it's the first time she's had her Eye open without Marcella very much in the way.

Outside a few of the predators pacing the ship manage to take note, or perhaps they were already aware by virtue of being farther 'down' than the ship when she was born. But now she looks exposed here in the spire and they attempt to pounce. The gellar field barely notices at their scale, they'd need a hundred times as many to pose a real threat, but Marcella and I lash out regardless, holding one of them in place and letting it be ground to emotive paste against the field.

We obviously have no desire to use her as bait, she's here to ensure her Eye develops well, but we're also hardly going to allow anyone or any _thing_ to make attempts on her life. No matter how futile the attempt, the only acceptable reprisal is destruction… Or at least dissipation since none of us is skilled enough to accomplish true destruction. Hopefully the other predators will finish the job we can't.

Adella of course is oblivious to the violence happening before her. She's too young to really focus her eyes, any of them, on what's going on outside. To her The Warp is just pretty colors swirling around in strange patterns she doesn't understand, but one day it will be her taking the throne, on the Writ or another ship, and guiding thousands of souls safely through the Empyrean.

"She looks like you did." Graig laughs from where he's guiding the ship.

"Which one of us?" 'Cella asks.

"You." He answers. "He was a bit older when I first saw him Warp-Watching." Not terribly surprising, since I'm just a little more than a year older than she is in lived-time. In absolute time it's anyone's guess since I was warp-born like our daughter.

Inevitably Adella eventually interrupts our viewing with a truly _appalling_ smell, and Marcella promptly foists the resulting duties off on me. It's Elodia's _job_ , quite literally, but she's not permitted in the Spire. Even if the collar would protect her, that doesn't change the ship's laws.

* * *

**Segmentum Obscurus**  
**Koronus Sector**  
**Koronus Expanse**  
**Winterscale's Realm**  
**Winter's Heart**  
**Heavy Transport - Writ of Surplus**  
**7.126.737M41**  
**Warp Timeslip Correction: +24**  
**7.150.737M41**

The manufactory that supplies much of Winterscale's munitions currently orbits a dying star. Not the type that eventually explodes, no, the type that simply fades with a whimper over millions of years. From a great distance telescopes might be able to see the red dwarf it once was, but now it's just glowing with residual heat that also provides power to the orbiting station. Planetary debris orbiting throughout the system speaks to some ancient cataclysm, but any evidence of what it might have been was probably lost even before the Great Crusade, nevermind now.

Being such a small star, and having no intact worlds in the vicinity, brings the mandeville envelope in much closer than in most systems, something which is both boon and curse in turns. It's harder to find in The Warp, but once you do, it's much faster to reach the station from the entry point. On the other hand, that also allows the second-hand Goliath class to more easily _escape_ the system should something happen. The escorts only have to buy a few days, not weeks.

Of course, all that pales in _personal_ importance compared to my current position. With no more navigation to do for the moment, I can just relax with my family, Adella sleeping on my chest while Marcella snuggles in against my side. There's something wonderfully soothing about this, even in excess of just having my wife. Maybe it's just the fact that a sleeping baby is such a peaceful thing… Or is that because we instinctively don't want to wake them up? It doesn't matter really. Her chubby little cheek is squashed against my chest while my hand covers her back, her whole back since she's still so tiny.

Turning my head to Marcella, I meet her gaze and just stare into those eyes. The Eyes of Night are well known, but having her irises maintain their color really brings out the actual structure of the mutation in ways not normally seen. Little patches of blackened sclera still show at the corners of her eyes, but the irises take up most of the available space. In the dark they dilate absurdly wide, but it's not something I've ever actually seen… On account of my flesh-eyes still actually needing light to see. "Have a long gentle climax." I whisper, causing those enormous eyes widen still further, and she bites her lip to stay silent as the pleasure washes over her. She buries her face against my shoulder while clutching my arm in her hands. I didn't specify how long 'long' is, but apparently the answer is a couple minutes.

"In front of our _daughter!?_ " She finally responds after calming down.

"For one she's asleep, and two, _we_ turned out fine even with Silvea's teasing."

"That's not an excuse." She grumbles unconvincingly, clearly far more relaxed after that release. Only a few more days, probably, until Elodia's duties as wet-nurse can actually start, and then I'm going to drive my beautiful wife right through the mattress after a couple weeks without the chance. Oh, I've availed myself of our guards, but Marcella's dry spell will be ending with a bang.

* * *

**Segmentum Obscurus**  
**Koronus Sector**  
**Koronus Expanse**  
**Winterscale's Realm**  
**Winter's Heart**  
**Heavy Transport - Writ of Surplus**  
**7.163.737M41**

As the Writ drifts through space near the Bounty of the Machine, shuttles _very carefully_ offloading our volatile cargo, I'm more interested in the candlelit dinner shared with Marcella. The Glare is arriving soon, more family to collar, but that's a concern for the future. Here and now 'Cella is looking radiant in a slinky red gown she finally fits into again, and the dim lighting has her pupils at least a little dilated so I almost feel as though I could fall into them. The grox steaks we're eating are… Well, it's been a while since we got _fresh_ provisions on the Writ, but they haven't suffered too badly for being frozen long term. Besides, I'm sure ash could taste good given the company.

"You are _incredibly_ beautiful." I answer the unvoiced question when she catches me staring wordlessly, a bite of steak cooling on my fork as I simply enjoy the sight before me instead. Her pleased smile at that answer is accompanied by a slight blush, and as I place the bite in my mouth to start chewing, I'm gratified to know I can still get that reaction with an honest compliment. Hopefully I always can… without ordering her to react like that.

Off in the distance I can hear Elodia's singing in the nursery, the echoing voice and ghostly chorus serving both as ambiance and to keep Adella calm so we can have this dinner. For the first time in _far too long_ without an extra guest getting in the way. Cute as she was waddling around with an enormous bump, _dancing_ wasn't really in the cards for a while. Our meal seems to vanish while I'm captivated by her beauty, and soon enough I'm pulling her out onto the marble decking in the main hall of our shared quarters. Here Elodia's voice is more clearly audible, and she's obliging us with a beat older than the Imperium. A ¾ time signature has been danced to across humanity for nearly all the time we've existed, something about it seemingly immortal.

Pulling Marcella close, I wrap one arm around her and capture her hand with the other, leaning in for a quick kiss before stepping into the music and starting to spin her across the floor. She's incredibly light on her feet, slim waist fitting beautifully against my arm as she follows the dance.

Time seems to fall away like this, caught in each other's eyes, moving together in, well, _nearly_ perfect harmony. Her long mane is held up in an elaborate braid that occasionally flies out as I spin her, flashes of red out of the corner of my eye playing counterpoint to her dress. Or maybe it's the other way around. As the music accelerates a bit we start to work up a light sweat, and it lends a lovely glow of exertion to her features, one that has me wanting to kiss and nibble my way across her lips and down her neck.

Our thoughts seem to be in sync, because she tilts her head to expose that slender neck, pale skin positively begging me to do something to her, with her. Her grin tells me she knows exactly what she's doing, and I give an answering grin at the same time I give in. Dipping her down at the next opportunity in the beat, I lean in and gently bite the side of her neck, licking the captured skin before letting it go and pulling her back up. She misses the next couple steps before finding the time again, and I can't help a delighted chuckle when that happens.

The hand she has on my shoulder scoots close enough to start teasing the side of my own neck in retaliation, and I miss a couple steps myself from the tickling and laughing. Pausing the dance to grab her hand, combined with already holding her other hand I can keep them well apart and force her close. "Whatever is wrong?" she asks 'innocently'.

"You are a _minx_." Adjusting my grip to hold her wrists, I push her arms back around behind her and hug her in the same motion. Her eyes darken as I do so, and I lean down to kiss her lips, the softness against my own delightful as always. Pulling her lower lip into my mouth, I gently bite down and pull back, letting my teeth scrape along her lip and leaving her with a slightly dazed expression as she pulls her lip between her own teeth.

"Hnnn." Leaning forward, she presses the side of her face against my chest, just snuggling into my arms for the moment. Sensing that the dancing is over, I abruptly release her wrists and simply pick her up, scooping her into a princess carry with a muffled squeal of surprise escaping her lips. Holding her close I carry her to our bedroom and lay her on the bed before stepping back to at least remove my shoes. Hers go flying over to land next to the cupboard by the door when she kicks them off, and I catch the glimmer of light as she checks where they'll land before she does. Petty use of a superpower, but I approve anyway.

I don't bother with most of my clothes for the moment, just removing _enough_ to keep them out of the way before stalking toward my impatient waiting wife with all manner of desire on my face. She smiles back, twitching a little when I grab her ankles and pull them apart, standing between them before reaching for her dress and starting to push it up. Goosebumps arise under my fingers as they slide up her legs, something that would make me smile if I wasn't already. Higher and higher her dress rises until I find she's managed to drip down to her knees over the course of the evening. "Oh." is my intelligent comment when I feel her slickness having progressed that far, and 'Cella blushes deeply without losing the eager smile on her face.

Leaning down, I continue pushing her dress up, but bring my head in to start licking up the mess she's made down her thighs, teasing her with kisses and little laps of my tongue as I _sloooowly_ work my way up toward her lips, switching back and forth from one leg to the other, prolonging her sweet torment. It's not exactly easy for me either, one could say it's extremely hard, almost painfully so, but I know it's 'worse' for her. The taste of her juices is actually quite pleasant, salty, slightly tangy, faintly sweet, her perfect health ensuring that nothing untoward makes its way through. Underneath that there's the taste of her skin, clean and oh _so_ sensitive to my touch. Her legs are trying to writhe out of my grip, and her fingers in my hair are pulling me upward, but I simply grab her wrists and force her to let go while I continue my teasing approach. _"Stop teasing! Please!"_

" _Not yet._ " She whines at the answer, but I'm only a few centimeters away from her lips now. Of course, her wetness is more prevalent here too, so I find myself slowing down just as I'm about to reach where she _really_ wants me. Her moans and gasps grow in volume and frequency, culminating in a sharp shriek when I finally turn my head and suck her swollen clit between my lips. Her thighs make a solid attempt to crush my head, but it does nothing to push me away from that little bud of nerves, licking and swirling my tongue around it while her pussy twitches and clenches around nothing, lips seeming to nibble back against my chin as the pleasure rocks through her. I keep the licking going until her cries start sounding a bit more desperate, just a hint of discomfort joining the pleasure as she starts to get a little _too_ sensitive. Backing off, I gently lick across her lips instead to let her gently come down from the heights.

Marcella is left panting breathlessly on the bed, legs falling to the sides and leaving her exposed as I stand up and climb over her. Looking down at her flushed expression, I let my eyes wander down to the neckline of her dress, appreciating just how far down the blush goes after an extended orgasm like that. Or possibly a chain of them, it can be hard to tell that difference. Leaning down, I draw her into a passionate kiss, invading her mouth with my tongue and sharing her own flavor with her. I wouldn't want her doing the reverse to me, but she doesn't seem to mind, returning the kiss with an intense passion and weakly reaching up to embrace me despite her current lassitude.

Propped up with one hand, I reach down to get lined up and quickly sink myself into her depths, the extended foreplay and eating her out first ensuring she's _more_ than ready for me. Maybe a little past ready, as she shudders a bit from the oversensitivity as I sink deep, eyes flying wide with a gasp. Holding still to let her adjust is incredibly difficult, her tight passage positively begging me to thrust with all the twitching it's doing. The moment she's ready though I start thrusting, the exquisite velvet texture of her walls sliding against me with each thrust, a slight change of angle making sure I hit most of the right spots. Grabbing her ankles and forcing them up toward her head changes the angle a little more, and she starts clawing at the bedspread, grabbing handfuls and yanking hard since she can't reach my back with her own legs in the way. Incoherent cries pour from her lips, and her eyes roll back with the pleasure. It doesn't take long before she's climaxing around me, and I let go my own self control as well.

The old play order to climax when my seed enters her remains in effect, and she screams with eyes wide as she's forced to cum again while already mid-orgasm. The way her pussy churns around me is incredible, drawing my own spine-shivering orgasm out far longer than normal, pumping her quite full of what would be quite potent seed without the collar. Even so it's still shorter than hers, and she's still shaking and trembling when my vision clears. Letting go of her legs, I let them flop down and slide my arms under her torso to pull her into a hug, just holding her while she returns to the here and now. "Wow." She finally manages to say through the panting.

"So, round two?"

"You're going to kill me."

"I doubt it."

* * *

**Segmentum Obscurus**  
**Koronus Sector**  
**Koronus Expanse**  
**Winterscale's Realm**  
**Winter's Heart**  
**Heavy Transport - Writ of Surplus**  
**7.171.737M41**

"Ah, milord?" Ligia's voice sounds in my ear, comm-bead carrying her words and interrupting a bit of studying. I instinctively look up, despite knowing she's on-duty outside the door. "A couple of your cousins are here."

"I'll be right there Sergeant." Setting a thin strip of leather between the pages, I stand up from the table where I've been going over old Warp-Weather reports with Marcella, copies obtained from Latoria aboard the Bounty of the Machine. The manufactory-ship doesn't spend all that much time in the Warp, so she's ended up maintaining a copy of the family library. Heading over to the door, I tap the control and back up once the door opens so the _very tall_ figure can get through.

"Terrace, what brings you here?" I ask cordially as he enters the room. His presence is a bit of a surprise. "I'd have thought you'd be watching over the Bootknife." As I'm making that comment, his wife follows him through the door. "Farrah." I give her a nod as well. The Blood has _not_ been kind to her over the years, nose and ears reduced to simple slits in a rather disturbing manner.

"She won't be sailing again for a _long_ time, we've been reassigned." She answers for the pair of them, holding up one taloned hand and letting the sleeve fall back to reveal that she's holding a pair of collars. "To The Ravening Glare. 'Project blindfold' they're calling it."

"...Oh." I glance behind me, then step aside and gesture to the sitting area. "Have a seat, or two. Marcella?" My wife looks up when I call her name. "Please join us?" She puts a bookmark in the tome she was referencing and sets it aside, heading over to join me on a loveseat facing a small holo-tank that occupies the center of the sitting area.

"I get the feeling this is going to be awkward." I comment once we're all seated. Terrace looks a bit odd sitting on normal sized furniture, still reminding me of a gigantic spider somehow. I force the instinctive aversion away though to pay attention.

"Undoubtedly." Terrace answers, glancing down at Farrah. "I want to know what to expect once... things start changing."

"Well, you'd have to ask Eta for a more detailed minute-by-minute breakdown, but once you put it on you'll be immune to future sight. That part seems to happen right away. It's not _total_ invisibility as far as we can tell, just invisible to _hostile_ foresight. Sparring with Seek the Path doesn't work… at all."

"I'm more concerned about the _attraction_."

I'm not exactly surprised. "Yeah, that. It doesn't seem to really kick in until the change is pretty far through. My guards were- Actually, how about we invite one of them." Tapping my comm-bead, I call out "Edith, come here please." A second later the door opens and she marches in. "Have a seat." I gesture to a chair and she obligingly comes over and sits down. I just look back at Terrace and gesture in her direction. "She's been where you're about to be."

"What is it like?" He asks. "Changing like that?"

She snickers "I deliberately got drunk before putting it on, so the first couple days are kind of a blur. After that-" She grins. "-it was really weird feeling my body change that fast, but it didn't throw off my balance, and I'm stronger now, and _way_ faster. It's like I had the flu my whole life and finally got better."

"What about being attracted to _him_?" He tilts his head toward me, as though there were any ambiguity in the question.

"Not sure when that hit. I wasn't really thinking about it for the first week, but when-" She cuts off very abruptly, trying to think of a different way to say that part.

"It's okay if family knows _that_ part. The Novator has made it clear she intends to make full use of the collars for replenishing our numbers." I tell her.

"Oh, ok. So I figured it out when Lucy asked if he was going to order us to his bed. He asked if we wanted to be, and, well…" She smiles and bites her lip, taking a deep breath and letting out a very satisfied sounding sigh.

"So you couldn't tell your mind was being changed?"

"Like I said, I wasn't paying attention." She shrugs. "If you're that worried, do what I did and get drunk."

"Don't worry, we won't name you _Edith_ while you're drunk." The words might be directed at Terrace, but the reference is aimed squarely at Edith. It continues to not bother her though. "Unlike her squadmates… Therese maybe?"

Terrace goes silent for a bit, apparently thinking about what his near future is looking like. Meanwhile his wife has her own questions. "Solana mentioned you have some control over the changes?"

"Some, yes."

"Can you make us closer to the same height?"

"I think so. Don't know how far down I can bring Therese, or how far up I can bring you, but I can try. Why?"

"Easier kissing range." She does have an excellent point there. The pair of them will still be together after donning the collars, and very literal physical compatibility is nice. "I hope these get fixed too-" She holds up her hands with the long talons, edges recently filed dull. "-But if Silvea still has sharp teeth, I'm not holding my breath."

"Yeah, reversing mutations outright doesn't seem to be in the cards, but they get cleaned up a bit. Not sure what'll happen with your face either. I'm sure Eta would love to have the two of you under observation for the process, we still need to document what the collars actually _do_ with all the recognized Navis mutations." Sighing, I rest my face in my hands and scrub a bit. "Graig is… going to be an adventure. Eventually." Setting my elbows on my knees, I raise my head again to look at them. "I really wish I could turn off the attraction part, or re-direct it or something. But even Eta hasn't been able to figure that out so…"

"It could be worse, at least your gene-line is clean."

"Solana expects me to help repopulate the House."

"And your problem with that is…?" Terrace rejoins the conversation with a jibe, then realizes the implications for his future and glances down at himself. "Oh."

"Pretty much."

* * *

Eta greets me warmly when I enter her demense, going so far as to give me a hug. I return the embrace for a moment, with the attraction aspect of the collars increasingly public there's no reason to hide it anymore. Her 'hair' isn't the most comfortable thing against my cheek, but it's not bad. "Your Lady isn't joining us for this?" 

"She wants to be there when Adella wakes up." That's enough of an explanation for pretty much anyone, given that she's a new mother. To be fair, I'm kind of hoping to get done quick so I can hurry back _too_. There's something odd about doing this without Marcella though, she's been present every time I've actually been party to someone getting collared. Sure, Eta's experimental subjects she wasn't there for, but neither was I.

Letting go, Eta turns to Terrace and Farrah with a nod. "Follow me." She instructs, and turns back toward one of the observation rooms, speaking as she walks. "##Omicron issued several more #intact monitoring units to improve data gathering. Your chiurgeon## has provided sufficiently ##thorough records to begin immediately." The couple exchange a look and nearly in unison take deep breaths that they let out in a rush before following her. I may not know exactly how they feel, but I'm familiar with the 'we're about to be in _way_ over our heads' feeling in a more general sense… They're just joining me in the deep end, even if they don't know it yet.

"After you're changed-" I speak up as I follow them into the observation room. "-I'm pretty sure Solana won't make any demands of you until Blindfold is over, but after that…"

"We expect to be gone a year." Terrace answers with a grimace, folding himself up to have a seat. "Plenty of time to get used to that idea." Putting an arm around Farrah as she takes the seat next to him, he falls silent, simply tilting his head forward when Eta nudges him with one of her mechadendrites. The recording unit plugs into the same port we use to interface with ship's systems, and rests on one shoulder. It's a much older looking model than the one Eta's used before, but also in better condition.

Farrah gets the cable that runs up to a track on the ceiling and starts rolling her neck to get used to the extra tug. "I haven't been this nervous since my first solo."

I chuckle at that a bit. "Did your teacher spring it on you by surprise too?"

"No!... Did Silvea real-?" She cuts herself off before answering her own question. "that sounds like her."

"She also put on a collar without asking me." Leaning back against the wall, I expound on that. "Given how much they seem to protect from The Warp, I- I can't really justify _stopping_ her, but that doesn't mean I wanted her to want me. It's just…"

"For the good of The House."

"Indeed. If only that made it less onerous."

"You may ##begin." Eta interrupts our conversation to inform us the recordings are being made. Terrace and Farrah exchange a look and then put the collars on in unison. My pendant buzzes against my collarbone, and I reach up to grasp it in my hand, letting the room fade away a bit as I look over their settings. Adopting a look of focused thought, I start adjusting the initial settings as usual, only for Eta's changes to sweep across the system in a swift wave. Damn her script is fast. With that out of the way I turn to the couple's request that they be closer to the same height.

Looking closely at the menu, Terrace is actually listed as being just above average height. Perhaps that's _before_ his mutations? The projected outcome is still three meters tall, but her torso and head are about the right size for someone of only a hundred sixty centimeters. Hands and feet too, it's just her limbs making up the wild difference. Moving the slider downward, I can bring her closer to normal height, but the limb-to-body ratio remains consistent. Even two meters results in an appearance that's… Well, at least she'd be able to fit in a standard bed, but I have my doubts about fertility even with the collar. Two meters thirty seems about the shortest that mutation will really accommodate.

With that settled, I start increasing muscle mass a little at a time, along with body fat. Eta's script is good for taking up the grunt work, but for something like this a human eye is needed… Or at least an intelligent one, and doing that artificially in _this_ galaxy is a terrible terrible idea. As I increase the sliders, her future body starts looking a bit more filled out. Still strange and unsettling, but no longer emaciated. Calling it good enough, I turn my attention to how Farrah will look in a few weeks, and find at least a little improvement in her face. The nose slits remain, but they're tilted a little, and there's at least the approximation of a nose. Shallow ridges around her ear-holes provide the suggestion of ears as well.

Looking at her hands, I suppress a grin and simple bump her height up closer to two meters Therese is still going to be taller, but by thirty centimeters instead of a _hundred_ thirty. Letting go and opening my eyes, I give the pair a nod when I find them staring at me. Farrah's lack of any need to blink is unnerving, but hardly the worst thing in the family. "I've done what I can, we'll see how it turns out. No guarantees." If only I could be there when Farrah discovers her talons are becoming retractable.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome." I pause a bit, then ask "Do need anything else? I'd prefer to spend time with Adella."

"Just go." Farrah answers. "And maybe pray this thing lets me hold my future children?" She holds her hands up with talons splayed.

"I will."

* * *

**Segmentum Obscurus**  
**Koronus Sector**  
**Koronus Expanse**  
**Winterscale's Realm**  
**Winter's Heart**  
**Heavy Transport - Writ of Surplus**  
**7.208.737M41**

The sudden crushing hug when I walk into Eta's medicae bay is rather surprising, though 'Cella's laughter from behind me where she's carrying Adella is reassuring even before I can register who just affectionately assaulted me. The hands pressed into my back feel a little odd, but it's the completely smooth scalp pressed against the side of my head that gives away the culprit. "Hello Farrah." Returning the hug, I pay closer attention to her hands against my back, noting the rounded tips. "Your hands feel different."

"They _are_!" Letting go she steps back and holds them up with a big smile. Her face is still rather flat, but it's better. The tips of her fingers are rather bulbous now, almost looking like a tree frog… Do those even still exist on Terra? Shoving the inane thought aside, I hold up a hand to ask for a closer look. When she places her hand in mine I bring it in for a closer look, pressing on the pads of her fingers a bit and watching the way her talons extend. The puffy tips of her fingers slim down as the bony blades extend, rather like a cat's toes.

"The Omnissiah ##provides." Eta joins the conversation. "Gloves are still problematic, but her dexterity is much improved." Terrace… _Therese_ follows her out of the side room Farrah so recently lunged out of. She still looks exceptionally gangly, her limbs nearly twice the length they should be relative to her body. The height she's lost lets her move through the doorway without ducking, if only just. Stepping forward, she wraps her arms around Farrah's middle and rests her chin atop her partner's head.

"That he does." I answer absently, taking in their appearances. I knew where they were headed, and I've been checking on them regularly, but the past day or so finally saw the end of their changes. "Looks like the height worked out almost perfectly." The only answer I get is her smile as she bends her neck down and curves it around to kiss the side of Farrah's neck. The way her spine bends is… Well, it looks uncomfortable, but it's not really a change in flexibility from before.

Farrah on the other hand, answers happily, tilting her head to the side to give her partner better access. "It's better than I hoped. He… _she_ \- Throne that's still weird. Edith was quite correct about her comparison to being cured of some disease." Therese finds a particularly good spot, and Farrah squirms away to continue speaking. "Project Blindfold is still nerve-wracking, but I feel like we have a chance now."

"The Emperor Protects." I make the sign of the Aquila, and they both mirror the action. Therese leaves her arms around Farrah to do it, which looks a bit awkward. Stepping aside, I raise my hands to protect my ears from the- Huh, no feminine squeals of happiness, just gentle cooing. With a shrug, I slip around behind Marcella and mirror Therese's position with my arms around my wife.

Adella stares up at the faces looking down at her, eyes wide with innocent curiosity. The headband still irritates her, but she's learned that all the crying in the world won't actually help there, fortunately. She's seen her distant cousins before, but this is the first time Farrah has been able to safely touch her, and she takes full advantage, gently poking her nose to watch her scrunch her face up adorably.

Adella manages to identify something going on with those fingers, and reaches for one to grab hold and pull it to her mouth… Sigh.

"She will likely continue ##that behavior for several years." A nest of mechadendrites slithers in under Marcella's arms, and she allows Eta to take our daughter for her checkup while we continue discussing project Blindfold with the pair of more senior Navigators. As a group we follow after her just to keep Adella calm with her mother's presence. Besides, she can't understand what we're talking about just yet.

"Have either of you fought Eldar before?" I ask as we settle in for a bit.

Both shake their heads, but Therese speaks up with "My father did, but all I have are his stories. At least we won't all be in the dark though, according to Captain Altor, the Glare's captain was with Calligos the last time he drove them off. Captain Dobesh… Valerius I think?"

"That's wonderful-" I begin. "-but he's not getting a collar, Calligos doesn't trust them yet. Which is fair, but does leave him open to prediction by their damned seers."

"We'll have to wait until he's briefed." Therese answers, "But I presume he's aware of that." She has a point, so I nod agreement.

"...We're working blind." Marcella points out after a while of awkward silence. "I don't like it."

"Neither do I." Hugging her tight, I look over at the other couple with a shrug. The beginnings of jealousy in their eyes, directed at 'Cella, is something I'll have to deal with eventually. After the Glare's mission is over probably. Once they've had a chance to get used to that desire themselves.

Well, assuming the Glare gets here soon. Otherwise I might not have a choice.

* * *

**Segmentum Obscurus**  
**Koronus Sector**  
**Koronus Expanse**  
**Winterscale's Realm**  
**Winter's Heart**  
**Passenger Shuttle**  
**7.229.737M41**

The Ravening Glare is not a ship built for looks, the Gothic class never really is, but the long banks of capital grade las-cannon lining the sides of the ship definitely qualify the beast as an _imposing_ ship. Great hundred-meter hexagrammatic wards picked out in gold and silver adorn the hull from bow to stern, and the engine flare is long and bright behind them, the distinctive shade of blue-white you get from the wardrives that give the class their immense power output. Her field-bracing is inactive at the moment, but I'm certain it's quite a sight when it's called upon, the shimmering lightning normally found on power weapons must lend a glorious sheen to the hull beneath. Her prow lance is still present, or possibly replaced at some point, tremendous turreted waveguides with their limited flexibility threatening anything in their restricted reach. Actually landing a hit with them might be a challenge, but with the lack of void shields on most Eldar vessels, any hit will wreak _serious_ havoc with her next prey.

As we fly closer, I can make out slightly different shading in her armor, scars of battles long past. The repairs look good to my eye, only the weathering of microscopic space debris dulling the gleam of the older plating a little more gives it away. Even that might not be present if the shields were up at all times, but there are practical reasons they're left inactive much of the time, and cosmetic weathering doesn't actually matter much.

As we approach the hangar bay, a cramped affair that feels like an afterthought on the flying wall of guns, Winterscale's much more elaborately decorated shuttle pulls ahead and claims pride of place before the welcoming committee. Troops are lined up to either side of a literal red carpet, and they brace themselves against the wash from the landing thrusters for the few moments it takes for that shuttle to come to rest. Then our shuttle is making its own final maneuvers, and the forward window is facing out into space as the great doors close behind us. The pilot is decent enough, and the landing occurs with only a little jostling before the ramp lowers at the back of the cabin.

While Calligos gets the red carpet treatment from the crew, the four of us aboard the shuttle from the Writ get our own reception. Ligia and her squad pile out to stand on either side of the ramp, and a handful of house guards brought by Farrah and Therese line up with them. Their lines extend just far enough to meet the lines of house guards that Anjeka and Kaarel brought with them for the welcoming committee, and we proceed slowly down the ramp with Graig in the lead. Silvea wanted to attend, but she's currently praying before the porcelain throne… Maybe it's petty of me, but I disabled the morning sickness immunity she'd normally get from the collar. She wanted it so much, she can deal with all the consequences.

"Anje! Kaar!" Graig calls as his head drops below the top of the ramp, arms flung wide. "It has been too long!"

"Graig!" Kaarel at least sounds happy to see him in person. "Where's Silvea?"

"Regurgitating."

"Unfortunate. I will mention her in my prayers." He pulls out a data-slate and makes a note.

While her husband is setting a reminder, Anjeka's eyes play over myself and the two formerly of the Drusus' Bootknife. "Is this your ward? Solana sent word he found something that could change the fortunes of our House."

"He is!" Graig twists his body around to grab my shoulder and haul me up next to him. I rather tower over him now, a combination of him being somewhat low-slung and my own enhanced height. "Anje, Kaar, meet Tristain. Young Marcella is tending to her own little one, or she'd be here too."

"We heard." Anjeka replies happily. "It's good to hear the House growing." Stepping closer with an inhuman fluidity, she looks up at me with a measuring expression, Warp-Eye slitted to allow the barest sliver of the Immaterium to show through. As it washes over me her expression becomes somewhat confused, then wondering. "How are you doing that?"

"Try them too." I tilt my head toward where Farrah and Therese are standing. Anje raises an eyebrow, but does as suggested, growing more perplexed with each scan. "Now try Eye of Oblivion." It's easy to tell when she does by the gasp, one echoed by Kaarel.

"Everything will be explained." Graig cuts in. "When we reach your quarters. It's no discussion for the landing bay. Not yet at least." The rumors and speculation have already run rampant through the Writ, but without access to astropaths of their own, or indeed any shore leave since events broke, the crew hasn't had the chance to share the news across the entire fleet… _yet_.

"Very well."

As our pace toward the lifts is limited by Graig, I find myself looking over to the other welcoming committee going on. It looks like it's turned into something of an award ceremony? Calligos is pinning something on a few of the crew in attendance and thumping their shoulders with an open hand. "What's all that?"

It's Kaarel that answers. "That gunnery crew sent two of Chorda's destroyers careening out of orbit at Gorlos Seven."

"Oh, _excellent_." Hearing about something going wrong for her is always good news.

* * *

"Now, why can I only see pieces of your futures?" Anje asks the moment the doors are shut, clearly chomping at the bit for details, presumably because the very difficult active shielding technique some of us know is rather all-or-nothing.

"These things." It's Therese who answers, slipping a finger under her collar and wiggling it a bit. "The side effects take some getting used to."

"What are the side effects?"

"You don't recognize me?" The slight grin on her face is telling. "It's Terrace." Anjeka's jaw drops, and she glances over to Farrah as well, taking in _her_ changed appearance.

"Farrah!? You have a nose!"

"Not much of one." she tries to demur through her own laughter, but her smile is infectious.

"...Wait, _Graig_!" She turns on my uncle. "You fething ass. You played us."

"I did no such thing!" But he's laughing too. "Had I introduced them in the landing bay, you would have had this reaction there."

After a bit more complaining about the way Graig kept them distracted from the important question of Therese and Farrah's identity on the way up, Anjeka settles back down next to Kaarel while he asks the even more important question. "What manner of artifice has side effects like _that!?_ "

Taking a seat, I reach up and tap the pendant at my throat, the weight of the conversion field generator hanging beneath it nearly as comfortable as the pendant itself at this point. "If the ancients left instructions they're long lost, but Biologis Eta Six Two Three speculates it may not be a _side_ effect. She thinks it might have been created to enable a political marriage, at which point ensuring… _compatibility_ is of similar importance to protecting the secrets of the house." I take a deep breath and let it out before continuing. "I'd be happier if it _didn't_ also create attraction, but we haven't figured out how to turn that off."

"Continuation of the line." Karrel remarks simply, and I nod.

"Perhaps… You don't need continuation of the line so badly when the devices also provide juvenat treatment, but they don't prevent violent death so perhaps you do." I slide my eyes back and forth between the pair. "And as disconcerting as I find it, our House does have certain needs. Novator Solana has ordered a limited distribution of devices through the House, as an initial test. We are also selling a number of the devices, as the juvenat effects are valuable enough to offset the gender change. Enforced attraction to a Navigator they will likely never meet…" I trail off with a shrug.

"I don't particularly want to be a woman."

It's with a wince that I shake my head at him. "And I didn't particularly want to impregnate Silvea, but the Novator's orders are clear."

"Silvea? But-" Anje interjects, looking at Graig.

He just shrugs. "I haven't been capable in years, not since my legs fused."

There's an awkward pause, broken by Therese speaking up. "If it's any comfort, I didn't want to be a woman either. But the vigor they provide is incredible. Tristan's explanation omitted that, but they don't just turn you into a woman, they turn you into a perfectly healthy woman… Mostly." She raises a limb to gesture at the way she's still super elongated.

"Farrah's nose." Anje surmises.

"Silvea's teeth and skin." I didn't particularly want that up-close inspection, but I can be honest enough about how much better she looks. "Our Price isn't removed, but it is… _lessened_. Not that either of you appear to have need of that at present."

"Ours are easily concealed, for the moment." I nod to Kaarel in acknowledgement of his statement.

"...So, I'm certain you'll be briefed on something called Operation Blindfold soon, if you haven't already…"

"Eldar hunting? Details are sparse."

"Makes sense. Winterscale wants to take advantage of the foresight block. Helmsman, gunners, deck-stackers. If their seer can't stack the deck _back_ -" I end the sentence with a cold smile, soon joined by our hosts.

At least until Kaarel glances at one of the collars again. Reaching into a pocket, I pull out the collars that he and his wife are expected to wear and lay them on the kaf table. "I won't force you into anything." Pulling my hand back, I add "When you don them, I recommend you have your chirurgeon record everything. Unless you want your techpriests irritated with you. Oh! And I can nudge the changes a bit, so if you want to be taller or shorter or something… I can try."

Watching Kaarel try to process the _massive_ change in his immediate future is a bit interesting. Anjeka scoots closer and leans into him, wrapping one hand over the top of his shoulder while the other presses against his chest, looking up at him with many questions clear on her face. Even after only a short while I can tell that staying silent like this isn't her style, but it _is_ his, and she's offering the support he needs instead of the support she'd like to give. I know they were an arranged match, we all are, but either Marcella and I aren't _quite_ as lucky as we thought, or they've made the best of it over their years together. I'd have to ask, and this doesn't seem like the _time_.

Finally Kaarel sighs and reaches for one of the collars, holding it up for a closer look. "Nice inscription… I will be confirming these orders with the Novator of course."

"Of course." My demeanor shifts pretty substantially as I pull a stack of flimsies out of another pocket and shift to a closer seat. Even in M41, the grand tradition of showing pictures of your baby to friends and family is alive and well… At least among those with the funds to actually take pict-captures. The demise of the ubiquitous cellphone camera at some point in the age of strife is a real shame.

Sharing pictures nicely fills in the time Calligos is spending on his morale boosting efforts. For all his flaws, getting people on-board with what he wants is something he's very good at, and he _is_ about to send a Gothic class up against an Eldar cruiser… _solo_. It has every appearance of a suicide mission, and the vast majority of the crew aren't cleared to know the hand we're playing yet.

* * *

As spacious as the Captain's briefing room aboard the Glare may be, it's made rather more cramped by the inclusion of so many people. Calligos has pride of place at the head of course, with Captain Dobesh at his right hand for the moment. Running on down that side of the table are the ship's Voidmaster and the Master of Guns. Their underlings run on down the rest of the table, looking rather nervous about being called into the room with their boss's boss's boss. A sentiment I can certainly understand. The side of the table to Calligos's left starts with Kaarel and Anjeka; then Graig, and myself; followed by Therese and Farrah.

The rest of the seats are taken up by… Well, this may not be the Imperial Navy, but _those_ are definitely commissars. Or political officers if you don't like that word, not that it's much of an improvement. Very stone-faced individuals who've been with House Winterscale since before Calligos took the Warrant. Aged and weathered, unquestioningly loyal, they're part of the iron core he built his house back up around.

"By now you all know there's a Corsair cruiser wandering around _my realm_." He pounds his fist on the table for emphasis. "These cowardly xenos have the audacity to attack my shipping, killing thousands of my people, and they don't even bother with the cargoes, toying with them like a cat with a mouse. No more!" As his gaze sweeps across the table, the rage in his eyes is infectious. "Twenty years ago I taught them why Mankind is their betters by hunting in packs, driving them from the Expanse. Today I still have the ships, the will, and the men, but if we turn our back on Chorda, we will find a knife in it just as surely as if we leave it to the xenos.

"Fortunately, we have something they won't see coming." He nods at me, and I pull out the collars allocated for the helmsman and gunners, laying them on the table. "House Cassini has come into possession of archeotech that foils precognitive witchery. Our Tech-priests have verified they're of human make, and while I don't entirely trust them, I damned well trust them more than Chorda."

"Sir?" The ship's Master of Guns speaks up.

"Yes Coltor?"

"With respect, even if I knew those things would kill me, I'd wear one to kill that corsair."

"Your brother was aboard the Strongback, wasn't he?" Calligos nods. "What if you knew it would turn you into a woman?"

"...It's a damned sight better than dead sir." He leans forward a bit and glances down the table at his gunners with a rather pointed expression. A couple look like they've bitten lemons, but even they nod reluctantly. Turning back to face Winterscale directly, he asks. "What do you need of us?"

"One helmsman, and a full crew of gun directors. House Cassini will be providing support to guide your aim. Emperor willing, you will show those Eldar what it's like to fight three steps behind instead of three ahead."

"I volunteer." The woman speaking up has the insignia of a helmsman on her epaulet. Raven hair is pulled back into a tight bun, and she has almond shaped eyes indicative of an ancestry somewhere the ground is reflective.

"Lieutenant?" the Voidmaster asks.

"Your reflexes aren't what they once were sir."

"...Cora-"

"Dad-" Oh dear. This could get messy. The thought drifts through my mind that she must get the eye shape from her mother. "-I'm the best choice here. You've taught me to fly since I learned to walk, and I'm better than you ever were. If anyone is going to make this-" She thumps a fist on the table. "-old lady out-dance an Eldar cruiser…"

"So…" I speak up. "The devices don't just make you a woman. They make you a young woman. You'd get your reflexes back."

He sighs and shakes his head, looking at his daughter sadly. "No, she's right. She's better than I ever was." He admits, then his face hardens and he sweeps his gaze across the sextet of Navigators on this side of the table. "But if your tech kills my daughter…"

"We are familiar with the concept of vengeance." Graig points out. "But if it does, we will lose family too."

"Very well." Calligos reclaims the conversation. "We have our helmsman for the battle. Guns?"

Coltor, in keeping with his earlier words, reaches for one of the collars immediately when Calligos asks for volunteers for the guns. "Two more questions, how fast does it work, and what's the activation rite?"

"About a week, and you just put it on. The latch disappears when you get it right."

"Friendly machine spirit." The man muses, setting it on the conference table in front of him, then leans forward to look down the table at the lower ranked gunnery officers in attendance. "I need four more volunteers, but not right now. You have two weeks before I ask the chaplain for a tarot spread to pick."

"Sir?"

"Yes?"

"Why wait? I'd prefer to let the Emperor decide." A couple of the other gunners nod their heads in agreement.

"That is acceptable."

"Your faith is noted Lieutenant." Calligos remarks, before proceeding on with the meeting. "When the Ravening Glare departs Winter's Heart, you will proceed to rendezvous with the Voidfarer's Faith to take on the last two members of your needed Navigator contingent. After that the hunt will be at your discretion Captain." His massive hand claps Dobesh on the shoulder. "You served well last time, This time I want that Corsair's silhouette on your kill board."

"You want their captain's head on a pike too sir?"

Calligos laughs loudly. "Of Course! But don't risk my ship to get it, it's expensive."

"Yes sir."

Speaking up to address the room as a whole, Winterscale rests his elbows on the table with one hand wrapping the other fist. "Now, under other circumstances I would give you advice, but I have no intention of wearing one of those collars, so those damned xenos might see it." I can almost hear his teeth grinding about that. "Captain Dobesh won't be wearing one either, so he'll have to rely on the Cassini navigators to track down this Corsair. I don't like it, but it's the best of bad options. You're a good crew, now go make me like it."

* * *

**Segmentum Obscurus**  
**Koronus Sector**  
**Koronus Expanse**  
**Winterscale's Realm**  
**Winter's Heart**  
**Writ of Surplus**  
**7.229.737M41**

Returning to the Navigator's quarters aboard the Writ, I can just make out familiar muffled moans from my bedroom. Out in the sitting room I can see Elodia holding Adella in her arms, singing quietly but with the vast echo that comes with channeling His light… Well, a nigh-perfect facsimile of it anyway, and if it doesn't draw on his strength that's a good thing.

When Elodia looks up at the sound of the door closing, I raise an eyebrow and glance at the bedroom door. _"Thalia milord."_ she answers the unspoken question telepathically. Smiling at what likely awaits me, I head over into the sitting room first to gently kiss my daughter's forehead, and then claim a gentle kiss from her wet-nurse while my little bundle of joy murmurs in her sleep and snuggles in against her bosom.

Turning away, I head back through the main room and quietly open my bedroom door, slipping in without disturbing the occupants. Though from the looks of things, I could probably have just barged in without disturbing them. Marcella has her thighs clamped around Thalia's head, and her fingers thoroughly tangled in her hair while she holds our eager toy against her smooth pussy. 'Cella's head is turned to the side and she appears to be biting a pillow to muffle her cries, leaving neither of them looking in my direction as I hurriedly disrobe with a big smile.

Leaving my clothes piled by the door, I head around behind Thalia and find her apparently more aware of the situation than I realized. She's holding her lips apart with one hand and shaking her ass at me invitingly. Grinning as I kneel behind her, I grab my cock and just brush the tip along her folds teasingly, focusing on her and holding a thought in the forefront of my mind. _"Is this what you want?"_

> "YES!"

> "Are you certain?"

_"Milord, please!"_ I keep just teasing her for a bit, one hand on her hip to hold her still, the other continuing to tease the both of us by rubbing my glans between her slick lips while she squirms in place, still licking my wife's pussy and getting her hair pulled for her trouble. When I finally take the plunge though she freezes in place for a moment and then screams into 'Cella's pussy, the wet spluttering noises that result a testament to how well she's been eating her. Internally she's a roiling cauldron of head and muscular spasms as the abrupt filling pushes her over the edge she was already near. Her body shudders exultantly around me for long seconds as pleasure washes over and through her.

"Don't stop!!!" My wife calls out, letting go her toothy grip on the pillow and looking down at Thalia's head, spotting me smiling at her in the process. She simply smiles back and adjusts her grip, then Thalia picks up the pace again and she arches her back with her head digging into the bed while one of her heels digs into Thalia's back. The woman between us is still having a bit of difficulty focusing, starting and stopping in a way I know 'Cella finds unbearably teasing. I certainly don't help, adjusting my thrusts to make her shake and shiver and lose track every time she has Marcella close to the edge again. It's so easy to throw her off too, Thalia's sooo oversensitive after a climax, easily multi-orgasmic to the point that she'll be begging for it to stop long before her body gives out.

Here and now though, I'm just reveling in the wordless power I hold over her with my cock, sharp thrusts kicking her back over the edge again and again, disrupting the admittedly impressive skill she acquired sometime over her long life. There's just something satisfying about having her twitching desperately instead of rippling with skill, even if it slows my own climb to the peak.

Both women's cries grow increasingly desperate as I work my way up to my own peak, Thalia's slick heat and the way she's trying to both press into me and squirm away at the same time working wonders. Thalia's increasing overstimulation is laid against 'Cella's increasingly desperate edging, their cries harmonizing when they can be heard at all. Finally the sights, sounds, and _feeling_ of the situation is all too much and I unload deep inside Thalia with a muffled shout of my own.

Pulling out, I look down to find Thalia's pussy a deep red and still twitching madly as my seed starts to ooze out, the bountiful load too much to all stay inside without help. Of course, Marcella is going to want to _extract_ it, so that's not a problem at all. "Switch?" I ask, and after a moment to untangle her fingers from Thalia's hair, Marcella eagerly swaps places with the astropath. There's a loud squeal when she dives in, until I "SHHH!" at Thalia and she simply goes silent, mouth still moving but her voice cut off for the moment. Her eyelids widen and her head lifts to look at me pitifully, but as I slide into my wife for the second round I just smile back. "You don't have to be silent, but don't wake Adella."

"Yes milord." she manages to get out through the soft, high, squeal that escapes once she's permitted voice again. The way her face is screwed up reveals everything about how intense Marcella's tongue is right now, and she writhes on the bed with her hands fisting in the cover, climax after climax being forced on her while 'Cella feasts.

* * *

**Segmentum Obscurus**  
**Koronus Sector**  
**Koronus Expanse**  
**Winterscale's Realm**  
**Winter's Heart**  
**Writ of Surplus**  
**7.240.737M41**

It's a few days later at breakfast aboard the Writ that I receive a flood of new collaring alerts through my pendant. Checking the details I find the lot of them kneeling in apparent prayer according to their renders in the control system. As Eta's script sweeps over them to avoid the usual comical proportions that seem to be stuck as the 'default defaults', I notice a few scars here and there that likely won't make it into their final forms. Ligia's cute scar and slightly lopsided smile are special, and none of the new scars share that sort of appeal.

"How many?" Marcella asks, having noticed me grab at the pendant to make that check.

"All eight of them. Looks like they were praying about it." Pausing to take a bite, I continue speaking once I've swallowed. "I'm going to pray for their success after breakfast, if you'd like to join me in the chapel."

"After Elodia gets here." she answers, looking down at our child suckling at her breast. She's eating with one hand, the other holding Adella close while she drinks greedily. With no one unprotected in the room she's without her headband at the moment, even if all three eyes are closed while she focuses on her meal. There's something just so precious about the sight, so pure and wholesome…

The peace of the moment is interrupted a little when Silvea trudges in, taking a long drink of water from the glass at her spot as she sits down. She looks tired, though according to the collar she's in perfect health aside from the morning sickness. "At least… This part won't last much longer." She declares, sagging in her seat.

"I do hope I never experience it to the same degree." Graig comments, glancing away from the data-slate where he's reviewing the final repair notes for the number seven vane. I'll need to review them myself at some point, for all the trust I have in our enginseers, anything that goes wrong in The Warp is our demesne.

"I thought I was done with it sixty years ago."

"Have care what you wish for?" I taunt lightly, getting a grumpy glare in return as Silvea bites viciously into a slice of buttered toast. It doesn't crunch the way it would with blunt teeth, so the sound lacks the same impact, but the flashing white daggers of her teeth easily pick up that slack. "Maybe Solana will permit you to stop at one. Once Uncle is changed, the two of you can simply have each other."

* * *

**Segmentum Obscurus**  
**Koronus Sector**  
**Koronus Expanse**  
**Winterscale's Realm**  
**Winter's Heart**  
**Writ of Surplus**  
**7.240.737M41**

"...Now what? Err, Sir's?" Lt. Calgar asks nervously once the ship's chaplain finishes praying for The Emperor's protection over them and guidance for them. "Do I start calling you Ma'am?" He's the junior-most of the officers trying out these strange archeotech collars, and he's a bit torn about trusting mutants with the success of the mission like this. But they already trust Navigators with the success of every mission.

"Not yet Lieutenant." Commander Coltor answers, not looking away from the massive Aquila mounted over the pulpit, still clearly contemplating the significance of their actions. "Ask the chiurgeon when to switch."

"Yes Sir."

Waving to the already departing Navigators, he calls out "Cassini. Stay a moment." When they pause to listen he beckons them closer. "Most of my gunners don't have much experience taking advantage of your sight. I want them practicing as _much_ as you can accommodate while the ship remains in realspace."

"Reasonable." Kaarel answers with a nod. "Simulations will be limited, lacking warp echoes."

"Simulated targets don't have a real future." Anjeka fills in for her- Well, currently husband, soon to be wife.

"Damn. Is there some way around the problem?"

"Asteroids."

"On the Bootknife we used to spar with the Swift Hound using our point defenses, they can't get through void shields, but the techpriests can tell you when they hit." Therese offers.

"If we had any escorts, that would be a lot more useful."

"Indeed."

"...Can you- Hmm." The older man wraps one hand around his chin, stroking his beard in a gesture that will soon be permanently denied to him.

* * *

**Segmentum Obscurus**  
**Koronus Sector**  
**Koronus Expanse**  
**Winterscale's Realm**  
**Winter's Heart**  
**Ravening Glare**  
**7.271.737M41**

It's hardly an ideal firing range, the old Gothic class never having been designed to provide such a facility, but with a number of pigeon launchers bolted to the edge of the cramped landing bay, they're ready to try their best.

A row of servitors pull levers in unison, sending the unnecessarily aerodynamic lumps of ceramic flying into the void, where they're almost immediately knocked down by lascannon fire from the other end of the ship, point defense turrets able to fire just along the hull slaved to the same consoles as the main guns.

"Good. Again." Commander Coltor barks into her vox unit. The line of servitors in the hangar bay with her simply pulls the levers once more, not needing the communication she's using with the gunners on the bridge. Her other hand rises unbidden to play with the metal band wrapped around her throat, fingers feeling out the inscription laid in the surface.

It takes her a few minutes to register that she's playing with her jewelry, something she's scolded junior officers for in the past on many occasions. It's a habit she let herself fall into as the changes were progressing, only to regret it now. With a husky growl, nowhere near the threatening rumble she remembers having before, she pulls her hand away and takes her anger out on her subordinates. "Pull! Pull! Pull! Pull! Pull! Pull! Pull!"

The servitors aren't capable of caring, or if they are they're not capable of showing it, but the dense spray of targets ensures a few get through and gives her an excuse to yell at Lieutenant Izaguine and Navigator Anjeka.

* * *

 **Segmentum Obscurus**  
**Koronus Sector**  
**Koronus Expanse**  
**Winterscale's Realm**  
**Winter's Heart**  
**Writ of Surplus**  
**7.303.737M41**

"May His light guide your path, and His hand guide your aim. Give no quarter to the Xenos, wipe them from the stars for their sins against Mankind." I lower my defenses against The Emperor for that prayer, as I watch the far distant rift close behind the Glare on their way out of the system. It's barely visible from here, even with the eyes of a Navigator, but it _is_ visible.

Lowering my hands from the aquila I formed for the prayer, I take a deep breath and turn away from the window. I've given them all the aid I can in the form of the collars, but I still feel responsible for their future plight. Without my help, Calligos would have needed to send an entire fleet the way he did last time, I would probably lose _more_ family that way, but it wouldn't be _me_ sending them to their deaths… It still isn't, but that little niggling voice in the back of my mind insists it is, just because I made their hail mary _possible_.

Walking away, I press a finger to the comm-bead in my ear, twisting it a bit to cycle frequencies around to the cargo master's channel in the hopes of hearing something that might tell me where we're going next. It's disappointingly quiet at the moment, though on the other hand that means they're not moving containers of nepthium around anymore, everything long since unloaded to the pair of factory ships that call this system their home base. Switching frequencies again, I call out on the navigation channel shared with family. "Have we been informed of our next destination yet?"

"No." Graig's voice answers. "I'd wager a glass of Scintillan Apex Reserve we're bound for The Lathes though, Winterscale is insistent on a Sunhammer emitter array for the Bootknife, and I imagine the Glare will need quite a number of spare parts when they return."

"I'm not taking that bet." There's no way he'd bet like that on anything but a sure thing. He's not Harley after all.

"Suit yourself." There's a long delay, as though the brief conversation were over, and then he resumes speaking, nearly causing me to trip on nothing. "I believe it would be prudent to join Silvea in wearing one of your devices before we return to The Maw, she may find herself unqualified for the storms soon in her condition."

"...Promise you won't be as pushy as she was?" Behind me Lucy and Jezmine muffle their giggles when my end of the conversation reveals the subject. Why they take delight in the awkwardness of my life I'm not certain, but they'll pay for it later.

"Agreed." He replies. "I understand my desires will shift, but barring orders from Novator Solana I will refrain, and I won't be seeking her out on the matter."

Well that's a relief.

* * *

Adella is getting heavier, her tiny frame now very much a healthy chunky baby, nearly doubling her weight in such a short time. It's one of the many things that makes me glad for the improvements from the collars, my arms simply don't get tired before she's insisting on her own that it's time for mommy again. Holding her like this… It makes all the other problems seem to disappear for a while, she's safe in my arms, looking around curiously in between scrunching her face up to try to dislodge her headband.

Holding her closer, I rub noses for a moment, then pull back and smile with a laugh. She looks bewildered for a moment, then breaks into a big toothless grin. So of course I do it again. "Hieee! Is that funny? Yeah?- oww." The third time I get a flailing hand to the eye, so I pretend to bite her fingers, keeping my teeth well clear. "Om nom nom."

The problem comes when I try to pull away, and she's managed to get a _surprisingly_ firm grip on my lip. "Eggo! Mrrrmrmmmrrraaawammm!" I pull against her grip, letting my lip stretch a bit into strange expressions which she seems to find funny. Eta says that learning to _grab_ stuff so early is unusual but not _that_ rare, so it's probably just due to her mother's perfect health when she was in the womb.

Either way, raucous laughter and maintaining a grip like that are apparently _exhausting_ , and she falls asleep shortly thereafter. "Sleep well."

Some time later, while I'm still just staring down at her bundled in my arms, I hear the door open, and then the sound of giggling from Marcella. Looking up I find Jezmine sharing something with her on a data slate, but I don't want to wake our daughter to ask across the room. It takes a minute for her to get the giggling under control, but when she walks over I get a rather obvious answer of what was being shared when she grabs my lip and gently shakes her hand back and forth. "Mrrrmmwaaarmmrmmwmw!"

"Children are the death uz dignity." I get out mostly intelligibly. That sets her giggling again, which wakes Adella, who immediately starts crying.

"Ohhh, I'm sorry sweetie!" Marcella slides her arms under mine, and I carefully transfer the wailing bundle over to her. The immediate rooting around confirms she's hungry, and my wife takes the seat next to me as she pulls her bodice aside. Putting an arm around her shoulders, I rest my head atop hers to watch our daughter eat.

The inevitable consequences Elodia can deal with.

* * *

**Segmentum Obscurus**  
**Koronus Sector**  
**Koronus Expanse**  
**Winterscale's Realm**  
**Winter's Heart - Outer Asteroid Belt**  
**Writ of Surplus**  
**7.363.737M41**

"Hmm, oh, that is quite curious." Graig jolts a little when the catch disappears beneath his fingers, and I reach up to grab my pendant as usual. No one in Eta's observation ward has any idea what to expect from his merged legs, so he's going to be stuck here for a _while_ even after I take a sneak peek.

It's all I can do to suppress my reaction when I find a fucking _naga_ rendered in the preview, and Eta's script comes to a crashing halt when there simple _are_ no sliders for the legs. Sure, there are plenty for ~~his~~ her tail, but the tail is staying. It's not _as_ surprising as it could have been, not after Farrah's face and Therese's limb proportions. The coloration is going to need some _major_ fixing though, I don't care how common brightly colored snakes are on Terra, having a colorful snake tail is _way_ too close to Fulgrim for comfort.

"Well?" Graig asks after a few seconds of Eta poking at him and taking readings.

"Too early to say with any ##certainty." Her voice is steadier than it has any right to be, at least if she's looking at the same preview I am. She's also standing while I'm sitting, and performing delicate manipulation of sensitive instruments. I suspect she's cheating with some augmentic or another, but I'm not certain which.

As she continues fussing around him… For as long as _that's_ the correct pronoun. I take advantage to rest my elbows on my knees and hold my pendant in my hands while I give the appearance of prayer. And really, I _am_ communing with the Omnissiah… sort of. Calling up memories from my other life, of various snakes seen in zoos and pet stores, I set to work on ~~his~~ her future coloration. Mostly black, she'll have dark-brown patterns that divide the darker color up into irregular blobs, effective camouflage among the branches of trees in long-gone forests. Boring as their coloration may be, anacondas were the closest thing Terra had to the right size for a human's lower body.

"Please grant your servants the wisdom to recognize the absence of corruption despite the unfortunate appearance of Graig's mutations. Though the collar can preserve the soul long enough to be brought to you, I believe it far more use to you right where it is. And for those who listen too poorly to benefit from your wisdom, at least let them have the discretion to avoid clashing with a writ older than that you granted them in your wisdom so long ago." The murmured prayer is heartfelt, and un-hidden from The Emperor's eyes, so I just have to hope he noticed.

"You pray like that for everyone who wears one?" Graig asks.

"Not exactly like that." I answer blithely. "But in general yes. The troops on The Hermitage get prayers for a good hunt and a keen aim. The wearers on the Glare get much the same."

"Hmph." He grins. "What chances do you think I have of getting _faster_?"

"Well, you're not getting any _slower_ , that's for sure."

"Come over here and say that boy!"

"Nah, I think I'll keep my distance. Just have to meander slowly."

*Crack!* There's a tiny flare of light from my conversion field, and the cuff-link he flicked at me hangs in the air for a moment before falling to the ground. "I can reach you from here just fine."

" _Men_." is Silvea's contribution to the exchange.

"Not for long my dear." He extends an arm and pulls her close wrapping it around her waist. She leans in to give him a kiss, and abruptly melts against him in a way I haven't seen in months. Specifically not since she put the collar on.

"Ah… Ahem." No response, and their kiss is getting more intense. "Ahem." Nope, nothing. "Well, on _that_ note." And with that I get up and leave the room. I'm glad for them, I really am, being able to recover their chemistry together now that they're both wearing collars. Doesn't mean I want to watch, no matter what Solana has to say about it.

* * *

**Segmentum Obscurus**  
**Koronus Sector**  
**Koronus Expanse**  
**Winterscale's Realm**  
**The Warp**  
**The Ravening Glare**  
**9.400.737M41**

"Couldn't sleep?" Anjeka asks at the sound of footsteps behind her in the passage leading to the Navigator's throne.

"Nightmares." Kaarel replies, the scent of Bilani tea wafting with the movement. Anjeka can't currently take her hands off the controls, so she simply holds one of the mugs she brought with her up to her wife's lips, the straw allowing her to partake without taking her Eye off The Warp ahead.

"At least we're _expecting_ the fight of our lives this time, instead of getting stabbed in the back. We can win this, Eldar don't use void shields, so just a few good hits will really hurt, and this old lady brings _plenty_ of hits. It's up to us to make them _good_."

"Hmm." Kaarel offers another sip of tea, taking a gulp of her own as she does. The mugs have different blends in them, one for sleep, one for alertness, fortunately with distinct tastes. As for whether her bedtime tea is helping more or less than simply sharing some one-sided quiet time with her wife is up for debate.

"I can't wait for the rendezvous with the Voidfarer's Faith. Too bad Corrin is so perceptive, so we can't copy Graig's trick."

"That _was_ well done."

"But we will never tell him that."

"Obviously."

"And Sarah will be happy to be young again."

"You've mentioned."

"Seeing little Anders and Perry all grown up will be a treat too. I wonder how they'll feel about getting the Faith all to themselves?"

"Hmm."

"No, I think they'll be fine. I meant, do you think they'll be excited?"

"Mm."

"Yeah, a little scared too. It's a big change for them."

"Their guardians."

"Yeah."

* * *

**Segmentum Obscurus**  
**Koronus Sector**  
**Koronus Expanse**  
**Winterscale's Realm**  
**Winter's Heart - Outer Asteroid Belt**  
**Writ of Surplus**  
**7.373.737M41**

"This prolongedirritating argument is accomplishing littlenothing minister. In all the recordsincluding House Cassini's I have access to, no Homo Navis has suffered chaos mutation. This result is within acceptable parameters given her former body, and shows a distinct lack of the vividmemetically hazardous coloration signature to adherents of excess."

"From the serpent's mouth pour lies and temptations!"

"Minister, I-"

"Silence!" The nearly glowing Aquila shoved in Graigs now-feminine face merely causes her eyes to cross as they focus on something so close.

"No, I don't think so. Just go get some holy promethium."

"Whatever foul plot you!-"

" _Burn me_."

"Eh?"

"Navigator, I cannot recommendstrongly discourage this course of action. We require a method of validation that does not risk the lives of valuableirreplaceablesubjects."

"I regenerate."

"And so do many agents of the enemy!"

"The NavigatorTristain's family has a point. The blessings of The Omnissiah are known to retard the healing of mutants and daemons associated with the Great Enemy. Among the weapons available to the common soldier, promethium best carries the effect. She is still a fool to suggest it."

"Do not let her leave." With that the old spitfire seems to fold in on himself as he makes his way out of her medicae.

"His dedication is admirable."

"His adaptabilitymule headed obstinance leaves much to be desired. You realize TristainAffection; desire would object to letting him burn you."

"I've taken multiple bolter shells in the past. As long as he doesn't empty the tank of a heavy flamer I will survive, and be healed within an hour."

"I will ensurepossible violence he does not." Turning back to her station, Eta-623 resumes her analysis of the current data from subject Graig's changed body. Much of the available data cannot be entered into the separate system due to Tristainaffection, warmth's commands, and while they're most reasonable on analysis, it does limit her ability to collate all the available data.

The sliders presented by the archeotech interface, not all of which she has translated even still, are far different for the alternate body-plan. Serpentine length is a separate parameter from standing height, and the multitude of parameters for scale formation are likewise a departure from the control set available when viewing the parameters of any other subject. Fortunately for Tristainaffection, warmth's viewing pleasure, once he overcomes his reticence to perceive his guardians in such a light, her minimum weight due to mutations hasn't prevented her diameter from being reduced, so long as her length is increased to compensate.

The selected coloration is a stroke of genius, though where Tristainaffection, warmth learned of the markings found on serpents that now exist only in the most ancient data-vaults of the Mechanicus is quite perplexingarousing.

Eventually her internal note-taking is interrupted by the return of Minister Demetris, now with a hand-flamer to go along with his fiery words. His stride is once again full-length and strong with the certainty of his faith, drawing on it to strengthen ageing limbs.

"HAH!" Eta-623 is forced to move _exceedingly_ quickly to remove a number of delicate instruments from the literal line of fire, even damaging one in her necessary haste.

"AAHHHH!!!" Graig's scream of pain is rather higher pitched than the roars he was once capable of, but no quieter for it. The little hand-flamer runs dry after a short while of that burning agony, and as the flames die down Eta steps forward to carefully measure the rate of regeneration.

"Well!?" The old priest asks after a minute.

"Her regeneration is, if anything, _faster_ in the light of His Blessing."

"Oh, good, because this _**hurts!**_ "

"You did askfoolishly for it."

"There's an Inquisitorial fortress on Scintilla. I don't want _any_ doubt when we reach the area, and detouring around there to reach The Lathes would be most suspicious." Her breathing is gradually slowing as her wounds close, blackened and crisped flesh sloughing away to reveal pink skin and glossy scales. "I'm hungry, regenerating does that."

"Another sign in favor of not being corrupted."

"...I will send for a meal." Minister Demetris declares after a moment's consideration. "Please do forgive my zeal."

"You discharged your duty even in the face of opposition. There is nothing to forgive, merely a lesson to be learned." Graig picks at some of the dead flesh that has yet to fall away. "Better one innocent dead than ten thousand innocents damned."

"Give the galley this." Eta rips a scrap of flimsy off of a pad and scribbles a note before holding it out in one extended mechadendrite. "She will need a great deal of fats for rebuilding." As the old priest turns away she calls out with a tone every bit as flat as when she was limited to a simple vocoder implant. "You are not forgiven for the destruction of my instrumentsholy."

* * *

 **Segmentum Obscurus**  
**Koronus Sector**  
**Koronus Expanse**  
**Winterscale's Realm**  
**The Warp**  
**Writ of Surplus**  
**9.402.737M41**

"You might fit better, but I'm not sure this counts as more comfortable." Graig, who still hasn't changed her name, just laughs at my complaint. She's coiled around the Navigator's throne and leaning close where she can point out a few strange persistent formations in the Empyrean along this particular route. It's a much more direct path back to the passage than the dog-leg we took in the first place, but there's no cause for deceit on this leg of the journey. Even Aspyce won't start anything in Footfall.

"I promised I wouldn't push, but I understand why she did." Yes, because that makes having you this close more comfortable. "Now, that plume there you need to watch for, there's others in this area, they come and go, but any of them will send you out the bottom of the galactic disc in a hurry."

"If you make it at all, I remember a lesson about the shock tending to strain gellar fields?"

"Correct. Fortunately they're quite slow to form, so as long as you keep careful watch they're of little threat. See where time is starting to swirl south there, in another day or two that might form a plume. Or it might dissipate. This whole region is full of strange warp conduits like those."

"I blame the Yu'Vath."

"A possibility. Fortunately we will never have a chance to ask any of them."

"I'm sure any number of Inquisitors would love to get one in an interrogation chamber."

"Maybe they have." Her coils slide around the machinery a bit, adjusting her posture to hold her torso just a _little_ closer. "But we'll never know. Now-"

"Ahem." I nudge her with an elbow and she backs off.

"Apologies. This is surprisingly difficult. Now, as I was about to say…"

* * *

The moment my shift ends, I leave the throne to Graig and hurry away, making my way back toward my quarters in search of a feminine embrace that's less… _disconcerting_. And also not stifling laughter at my plight. When the doors of the lift slide closed, I inform Harley that "If you laugh about this, you will find yourself twice as far in the red as you are currently in the black or red." Out of the corner of my eye I watch her eyes widen and her face redden slightly. Something about her expression though… Sigh, that order _turned her on_. Why even?- Because she's a gambling addict and I placed a bet for her. Well, at least I've managed to focus her gambling habit on something that's not self-destructive.

"Milord?" Ligia asks, and I can hear the stifled humor on her side as well, but she does a better job of suppressing it. Extending an arm to grab her, I pull her into a hug for a few seconds before letting go, enjoying the scent of her hair where it escapes the edge of her helmet. Releasing her before the lift hits the next stop, I sigh and straighten my coat, making sure everything looks normal. My relationship with my guards is an open secret by now, but discretion still has merit.

"Thank you Sergeant."

"Any time Milord." The impending laughter is replaced with a simple happiness now, glad to have helped with my current issue, even if only a little.

As the lift carries on, a few other officers and ratings board and depart along the way until we reach our stop, stepping off to find the corridor a bit empty at the moment. The lack of witnesses provides an opportunity, and I can't help a smirk as we approach the door to the Navigator's quarters.

When the door opens at my touch on the pad, I reach out with my other hand to grab Ligia's breastplate by the edge of her collar and haul her inside along with me. Behind us Harley giggles, then whimpers in aroused despair when she realizes she's either in the red, or just farther in the red. Some number of future orgasms lost in the moment of laughter. It's a sound I've come to recognize from the shooting range when she loses certain bets, and association with her desperation has turned it into a very arousing noise.

Looking Ligia in the eyes as I pull her along, I find them glittering eagerly above a cute crooked smile. With a wink, I instruct her to "Relax Ligia." Without the nervous tension of the first time I took her, the result isn't as immediately profound, simply softening her smile a little. Well, it might also be responsible for the slow pace of undressing, or that could be the fault of my hands teasing and pinching at every bit of exposed skin. Even relaxed as she is that probably didn't help.

As she lays back on the bed, I place a knee between hers and lean forward and plant my hands next to her shoulders, bringing our faces close together. "Play order: When you climax, relax _completely_. You're not even allowed to clench during your orgasm." Her eyes tell entire sagas as I smile down at her with just a little evilness.

"Milord, I suggest you allow me to use the lavatory first if you want that."

"Oh, right, _that_ would be messy. I want you messy when 'Cella gets back, but not like _that_. Go ahead."

Ligia languidly rolls off the bed and to her feet, moving in an almost liquid fashion I attribute to being deeply relaxed by my orders. The way she sways her hips on the way to the door however is _clearly_ deliberate and much appreciated. She pauses at the door to the bathroom and turns to give me a wink before disappearing behind it. "Minx!" The easy laughter from behind the door confirms everything.

As I wait for her to return, I contemplate 'Cella's reaction when she finds the mess I'm planning to leave her. She's supposed to be back from whatever she's up to with Silvea in an hour, Adella either with her or entrusted to Elodia. If it's the former I'll have to leave Marcella to her fun with Ligia while I have some father/daughter time. I grin at the thought that it's hardly a hardship, and if I miss out on getting to watch? Oh well, there will be other chances later.

When Ligia returns, I pull her nude form in for a kiss, and then twist around to not-quite-throw her onto the bed. Closer to what you'd consider a hip-throw in martial arts, except the bed's already fairly raised so there's not far to fall, just enough for her to start reacting before impact. Laughing along with her as she bounces on the soft surface, I lean over her with a knee resting between her thighs again and my hands once more on either side of her shoulders. "Now, I think we left off about _here_." Leaning down a bit more, I bring my knee up to rub against her folds and find her already wet, looking forward to what I have planned. I wonder if she realizes yet what effect it's going to have when she can't _clench_ while she cums.

"Please milord."

"Please… what? Sergeant."

"Please fuck me milord." Well, that's clear enough, but it's hardly going to surprise her that I love teasing, and when I shift positions a bit so I can get myself lined up, I just stroke the head of my cock up and down along her lips a few times, chuckling when her hips try to shift up into me while remaining mostly relaxed. It's a strange dichotomy, sexual tension in abundance, but physical tension mostly absent. Her hips just roll slowly instead of the jerky motions she'd normally be making.

"Please." There's a hint of whining in her normally more controlled voice, so after another few seconds I finally line up and drive deep in a long thrust, not hammering in, but not exactly _slow_ either. She groans in satisfaction as she stretches around me, immediately starting a slow ripple she's figured out somewhere along the line, no longer a dead fish while forcibly relaxed, instead more of a gentle relaxed experience that lacks any real urgency without missing out on passion.

As I start thrusting with a matching pace… I lean down to claim her lips in a greedy kiss, sucking her lip between my teeth and biting down a bit before pulling back, letting it drag between my teeth while her eyes flutter. Lifting up again doesn't quite work, even relaxed she's managed to lock her arms around me enough to lift up with me. That's fine, I let my weight rest atop her instead, rocking my hips to get enough friction to keep things moving and pulling a hand between us to pinch and roll one of her nipples a bit while the other slides up between her back and the sheets to tangle in her hair, tugging to the side to expose her neck for some long bites, just hard enough to leave marks behind that she'll have to be careful making sure her collar covers for a few days.

The friction and slow rippling inside her are gentle enough there's no need to hold back much, the gradual climb up the slope slow enough to draw things out nicely. Every thrust is met with moans or sighs of pleasure from Ligia's lips, and I gleefully take advantage of that strange sense ability to read her body like a book. Maybe a music book to extend the metaphor, as it's full of instructions for playing her body like an instrument. Cheerfully stroking and pinching just so, I ensure she reaches her peak before me, enjoying her expression as she just… _stops_ , the rippling faltering as it tries to become vigorous clenching only to fade into a slight quiver. "What?" The plaintive whisper as her climax falters and fades is full of deep _need_. Her passion isn't abated at all, she's had no real relief for all that there _was_ a wave of pleasure that crashed over her. I didn't stop thrusting so it wasn't _ruined_ , just… profoundly unsatisfying, leaving her even needier than before.

"When Marcella is playing with you, _then_ you can clench." Her answering needy groan is practically music in itself. "You're going to be _so wound up_."

"Milord is very cruel."

"Oh really? Answer honestly."

"..." She fights the order for a couple seconds, then replies. "No."

Chuckling, I resume working her into a needy sloppy froth, looking forward to Marcella's reaction.

When the sound of the outer door snapping shut eventually reaches us it barely registers with Ligia in her needy haze. What does register is the way I finally stop pleasurably tormenting her and wipe myself off before hurrying to at least put on a houserobe so I can take over looking after Adella while letting 'Cella at the treat I've left her. "What!? No! Come back?" Her enforced relaxation prevents putting much emphasis on the words, but the desperation manages to come through anyway.

"Marcella's back." I point out, and Ligia's eyes widen, a thready keening sound starting to escape her throat while her hips resume the gentle rolling motion that she'd _love_ to be much more vigorous. Not that it'd help with nothing to grind _against_. Laughing at her plight, not unkindly, I promise "I'll send her in." before stepping out into the living room and letting the door shut behind me. "Hello dear." She's still near the door, holding Adella while she and Harley make faces at the tiny girl.

Looking up when I greet her, she takes in my disheveled appearance and casual attire and smiles as I approach. "Hi." Putting my arms around her and our daughter, I hold them close for a moment while I kiss 'Cella on the lips and Adella on the nose, chuckling at the way her face wrinkles. My laughter seems to convince her all is well though, and she starts giggling along with me.

"I'll take Adella. Ligia is waiting for you."

"Ooo." Carefully transferring her precious cargo, she slips past me while I take over making silly faces. Her boots tap-tapping across the marble floor until she reaches the door and hits the panel to open it. "...What did he _do_ to you!?" Her back might be turned, but I can practically hear her eyes light up just in the tone of her voice. Then the door closes again, and shortly thereafter Ligia's scream of passion is clearly audible, though muffled by the door.

"Oh my!" Elodia turns her head toward my bedroom, glass eyes wide. Grinning, I wink at Adella and then turn my head and lean over to kiss Elodia's neck while her face is turned away. She doesn't really understand what a wink means yet, but there's no way we're going to be hiding the fact that her parents have a harem from her, even if we wanted to. Elodia turns her face back to me of course, so I give her another kiss before walking over to have a seat on a couch where she can sit next to me, and Adella can have a bit more room to move without risk of dropping her.

The moment I unwrap the blanket to free her arms, she clumsily swipes at her headband, and lets out an unhappy "waaaah." when I block the motion. She doesn't break into tears fortunately, just whining about it.

"Ohh, I know, life is _so_ hard when you're tiny. Trust me, it does get better, but it doesn't get easier." Complete incomprehension, but while I'm talking she looks at me instead of trying to get the headband off. "Let me tell you a story, about a man named Ciaphas Cain…"

* * *

**Segmentum Obscurus**  
**Koronus Sector**  
**Koronus Expanse**  
**Furibundus**  
**The Outer System**  
**Writ of Surplus**  
**9.431.737M41**  
**Warp Timeslip Correction: +37**  
**7.468.737M41**

"Has it really been almost eight months?" I ask absently, watching out the front of the spire as we transition back into the materium, gazing out upon the tempestuous star of Furibundus. The plasma trails throughout the system are far different than last I saw of it of course, though they still have holes in them where things blocked the path of the plasma when they were more densely focused far in-system.

Footfall is still too far away to make out, but its mere presence is enough to convey an aura of safety, at least for the moment. The status of the place as somewhere that ship-to-ship combat is utterly untolerated is something of a harsh contrast to the regular infantry skirmishes that take place between the guilds aboard the ancient station, but those same guilds are excruciatingly careful to leave Rogue Traders and their crews _alone_ to avoid any loss of business.

"By the time we transition out, it will be more than eight months." Graig answers. It's still strange hearing her new voice giving the same sort of answers _he_ used to. "After accounting for quite a bit of time-slip."

"Even more by the time we clear the passage again. Call it a year and a half by the time we reach Scintilla again?"

"Perhaps." She snorts loudly. Very unladylike, but a very familiar mannerism. "I just pray we don't have too much difficulty with the Inquisition."

"Not going to pray for none?"

"I'm not _that_ blindly optimistic boy."

"Fair enough."

* * *

**Segmentum Obscurus**  
**Koronus Sector**  
**Koronus Expanse**  
**Furibundus**  
**The Outer System**  
**Writ of Surplus**  
**7.558.737M41**

Once again we've passed by Footfall without docking, nor sending a shuttle to the Templum Mechanicus orbiting deep in the fiery glare of the roiling star. Ahead in the vast distance I can make out the realspace clouds associated with The Vortex and The Roil. Here and now they look like faint wisps far away, but once we make the transition they're going to be right up in our faces once again. "I wonder how The Hellwardens are doing?"

"Have any of them died recently?" 'Cella asks from her place at my side.

"Not that were wearing collars. I couldn't say whether there _are_ any others anymore, but I hope so." I sigh. "There _has_ to be some ship that's come through that knows, we just haven't gotten the messages."

"Yeah." She snuggles in under my arm, Adella held securely in an odd cloth wrap one of her seamstresses made for her. The contraption looks silly, but keeps her happy and close to her mother, while leaving Marcella's hands free to do things like poke her nose, or hug me. "Should we invite Suzette for dinner?"

"For or as?" I whisper teasingly, then follow up with "If we actually dock at the Hermitage, yes. But I'm not certain we will.


	5. Questions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you hadn't noticed that I've been adding to Flame a little bit at a time, you might find that you're missing something by starting here. Go back and catch up first. :)
> 
> Yes, I know it's weird to keep adding to a chapter instead of posting another chapter, but given the format of the site it fits better to do it this way IMO. This chapter will be getting the same treatment, fair warning.  
> 2nd section  
> 3rd section  
> 4th section  
> 5th section  
> 6th section  
> 7th section  
> 8th section  
> 9th section  
> 10th section  
> 11th section  
> 12th section  
> 13th section  
> 14th section  
> 15th section  
> 16th section  
> 17th section  
> 18th section  
> 19th section  
> 20th section

**Segmentum Obscurus**  
**Calixis Sector**  
**Halo Stars?**  
**The Hermitage**  
**Heavy Transport - Writ of Surplus**  
**9.606.737M41**  
**Est. arrival at Port Wander 9.906.737**

While I may be technically qualified now, the writhing hellscape of The Maw is still a daunting environment. Peering ahead through the roiling storms, I seek out the razor's edge of the safe path, warp vanes flicking this way and that to counter slip-currents and eddies as they're shed across the relative calm by the storms that surround it.

Blue and gold predominate amongst the higher predators here, still mere flecks amongst the things too small to really be said to have an alignment, their movement through the shoals of predators provoking the smaller things to shy away like fish from a shark in a planet-side ocean. It's a sight I've never seen in this life, though the other has the memories of oceans on Holy Terra. The world was a shining jewel once, blue and green, verdant and lush with endless life. How fragile it was then, how little we knew. I've seen engravings of it now, the way the orbital plates shade entire continents, the sprawling world-hive with its trillions, or maybe quadrillions of inhabitants at the center of the Imperium.

From here all I can _barely_ make out is the awe-inspiring shine of His light pouring forth. Even here where the Eye is between us and Terra he still shines through, and it is by that light that I inspect our course, thwart the agents of the enemy, and… "Ha!" Swat one with a warp vane. It's not enough to kill it, not with a single impact like that. Some ships can, but those relics literally have hulls covered in enough blessings to count as holy in their own right even without being mighty expressions of the Omnissiah.

As the… whatever kind of daemon that is tumbles away, a little bit of the storm ahead abates. Not now, but a few minutes from now, the back-time ripples fading as they meet the forward propagation of that act. Normally that would be a surprise, but we've been getting actively impeded for some time now, daemons trying their hardest to sunder the apparently blind ship since they can't see our futures directly.

"It'll be interesting to see if they still act like that when more of the family wears these things."

"Yes it will." I respond absently, not taking my eyes, and more importantly my Eye, off of the storms ahead. My shift ended fifteen minutes ago or so, but I _think_ we're almost to The Hermitage, and Silvea's looking a bit queasy.

As it turns out, it's another half-hour before I reach the edge of the Mandeville Envelope for the system. Triggering the emergence sequence I share the Writ's relief at getting out of the storm for the moment as she eagerly tears a hole to the Materium and slides through. "Uggh." As I slump in the throne, the connector attached to the back of my neck tugs a bit awkwardly, but I leave it attached long enough to mentally run through the checklist with the Writ's machine spirit. She leans into me mentally while we do, like a dog seeking attention, and I make sure to take extra care going over the list. "Well done old girl." I mutter before finally disconnecting.

"Thank you." Looking over at the words, I find Silvea still standing next to the throne, still looking queasy with a hand over her stomach. "Eta estimates another week before I'm through with this part."

"Good. It's taken long enough."

"Marcella escaping the curse of morning sickness really isn't fair."

"I don't think she's going to complain." Her narrowed expression is the payoff for deliberately missing the point, and I give her a tired grin. "Maybe the collars will help more if I'm not wishing for you to lie in the bed you made."

She starts to retort to that, then sighs and nods. "I have apologized."

"And I forgave. Doesn't mean I'm not grumpy." Levering myself to my feet, the exhaustion worse now without the Throne Navis supporting my own system, I make my way over to the stairs with trudging steps, clomping down them into the bridge.

"-a vox message from The Hermitage." As I enter the bridge, the Lieutenant at the Vox station makes that announcement.

"That was fast." Captain Thorne notes.

"I doubt it Ma'am. I think it's a reading, from the Book of Saint Lucius… On the Courage of Man I believe."

"Put it on."

"-ee Him he still guides your steps if only you hold strong to your faith. Remember that it is not your life alone, but all of Mankind sheltering behind the line, here and now or a segmentum distant. Stand tall against the-"

"Suzette." I remark tiredly, still recognizing her voice. Her sermons were always more interesting than Demetris's, probably because she understands how to use dynamic range instead of simply bellowing fire and brimstone. He's good at getting the blood pumping, but she's better at making people _care_.

"It does sound like her, but why go to the trouble of setting up a hymn-caster for a system with such light traffic?"

"If they finished their purge Ma'am, then it does seem a worthwhile fortification given the location." The old Voidmaster comments from his usual place by the charting table. "The Ornery Sherpa brought them supplies not too long ago I believe."

"Perhaps, but speculation is pointless when we can simply ask. Vox, see to it."

"Aye Ma'am."

With the order given, the captain turns her head a bit to put me in her field of view. "Unfortunately we must make haste." MmmHmm… I guess she's still irritated with me, we're not in _that_ much of a hurry unless she says we are.

"The Lathes await." I shrug and head off the bridge to go take a nap. Even the leading edge of The Passage is still kind of a nightmare to navigate, and I'm _wiped_. Maybe I'd try to argue if I wasn't, but I am.   
...  
...

Passing through the door to our quarters, I'm met by Marcella's embrace, my lovely wife dressed in only a robe and her collar as far as I can tell. Leaning down to give her a kiss, I notice her beautiful eyes are widely dilated and she's grinning mischievously. Her brilliant hair is also _very_ mussed. As I meet her soft lips, I find them tasting slightly tangy and quite distinctively slick, the aroma of aroused woman easily detectable at such close range. "HmmMmm!" The exhaustion of the long shift seems to abate, and I wind my arms around her more tightly while I investigate this with my tongue. My pants quickly grow far too tight, but the way she presses against me only adds to the heat of the moment.

The perfect memory that comes with the collars soon calls up a name to go with the specific flavor, and I murmur "Gabrielle?"

"I left you a present." She murmurs back, not breaking the kiss.

"Oh really?"

"Payback for Ligia."

"And you're not looking forward to cleaning her up _at all_ right?" The little giggle she gives as an answer informs me I'm probably not getting that nap any time in the next hour, but somehow I don't care. "Adella?"

"With Elodia." Pulling away, Marcella grins and grabs my wrist, pulling me toward our bedroom and our petite sex slave within. I go along with it of course, and when the door opens I have to say the sight before me is amazing. Gabrielle is laid on our bed with her legs spread, pussy twitching hungrily while her hands hover around it as though held back by an invisible forcefield while she whimpers. After a few seconds she gets a finger closer and swipes it across her glistening clit, _once_ , before being apparently pushed back again with a cry of desperation, her hips rocking upward while her hands pull even farther back.

She's clearly _right_ on the edge after Marcella's attention, and the bedspread beneath her is dark with her arousal, glistening strands visibly connecting her to the stain even now. The skin of her sex is an angry red, inflamed with what is clearly profound arousal. "What did you _do_ to her?" Before Marcella can answer, my voice gets Gabrielles attention, and she immediately demonstrates that she's her after attaining mastery of the trick she's been working on. Every single fastener and tied lace on my clothing is undone at once, my pants falling to the floor with my belt and fly undone while my coat hangs open and my boots loosen enough to simply step out. She lets out a whine of deepest desperation as she does all that, and if I weren't already hard I'm certain it would have done the job in a split second.

"You were _supposed_ to be back forty five minutes ago." Marcella replies with a bit of humor in her voice.

"Has she been like this the-"

"Master! Please!!!"

"Whole time?" Marcella puts a hand on my butt and pinches playfully while also pushing me forward. "Yes."

"Ack!" I reflexively swat at her hand, but she's already pulled it back with another giggle. Gabrielle is also clearly very needy, and her mind is starting to pull on me physically like groping hands. Just going along with it, I step forward and lay over her small frame, her hands moving out of the way eagerly and going to wrap around my back, pulling me closer with deceptive strength.

"pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease-" Even in this state, she has sufficient control over her precision telekinesis to guide me in, an _interesting_ experience all its own. Her puffy lips are practically scorching hot, literally dripping, and twitching enough to feel like she's nibbling on my head as I sink in. The tremendous stretching sensation provided by her over-sensitive pussy causes her face to screw up in a way that has me half expecting her glass eyes to cross or roll back in her head, but instead they continue to stare straight ahead, belying the intensity behind them.

 **"Play order: No psychic screaming."** I order in a forceful whisper, having to pry her away from me a little before I can lean my head down to deliver it directly into her ear. The way she's clinging to me doesn't really offer another option for that, and she's still forcing herself farther down my cock, stretching her tight pussy that's barely large enough for me to fit. Incoherent noises emerge from her lips, and her fingernails dig into my back while her heels clamp against my ass.

Marcella's hand reaches between my legs and gently cups my balls, stroking and lightly grazing her fingernails against my sack while she leans against my back, looking over my shoulder at the top of Gabby's head. "You may finish now." Like a switch flipping, which isn't far from the truth, Gabrielle locks up beneath and around me for a few seconds before her stretched pussy starts rippling madly while a sound partway between a scream and a growl emanates from her throat. It's absolutely amazing the amount of need and passion she can express, then again it's been months since her last orgasm, and she's been edged for the better part of an hour. The entire experience is enough that I don't even bother holding back, erupting within her while she churns around me. The seal is tight enough that nothing escapes at first, but as she Just. Keeps. Going. I pull out after a minute and roll to the side to let Marcella take over.

I have to hold Gabrielle down to keep her from staying latched on, but once 'Cella's head is between her legs she stops trying to grapple me. Instead I slide an arm under her waist and pull her close, relaxing in the afterglow while Marcella cleans her out before moving over to clean me off.

* * *

**Segmentum Obscurus**  
**Calixis Sector**  
**Halo Stars?**  
**Witch-Cursed System**  
**Heavy Transport - Writ of Surplus**  
**9.781.737M41**  
**Est. arrival at Port Wander 9.906.737**

The presence of a Navy patrol in the system when we arrive is cause for celebration given what we found when last we were here. It's a sign that perhaps this transit will be one of the smoothest in living memory for the crew. The Writ is undamaged this time, and the cargo of alloy ingots is safe. Not that anyone should theoretically have known that we were carrying them, loaded as they were in a system where Winterscale's ships are the only ones with the charts to find the place. Of course, Aspyce's people have already demonstrated knowledge they _have no business having_ on at least one occasion.

Standing in the shuttle bay a bit to the side of the red carpet, I watch as Captain Dostev's shuttle comes in for a landing. The man was apparently aware of the Writ's drive signature from data-archives recovered on one of the pirate vessels they've caught, and he wanted to shake some hands in person. His shuttle is fairly drab compared to Calligos' personal shuttle, but that's only to be expected. It would fit right in among our cargo shuttles if the livery were swapped.

As the ramp lowers, I glance back to check on Graig's positioning, her tail mostly concealed, though in a manner carefully calculated to not _look_ like we're hiding it deliberately. This is possibly the best shot we're going to get at putting the right foot forward… so to speak since she doesn't _have_ any.

"Relax boy." She reprimands quietly. "Don't let them see you squirm."

"Easier said than done." I mutter back, watching as a handful of naval security personnel march down the ramp and salute toward the center while the captain walks down. He's clearly been in rank a looong time, given the grey hair. By the time you get to such a lofty rank in the Battlefleet, you're an investment worth the expense of juvenat. His military bearing and stride is crisp enough to cut the unwary, boots clacking against the decking as he marches up to Captain Thorne with a pair of adjuncts flanking him close behind. Her garb is significantly flashier than his, Winterscale having a rather more flamboyant sense of aesthetics with regards to uniforms, but it lacks the laser-ruled precision of his.

Trading salutes with her, he proceeds to extend a hand to shake. "We recovered recordings of your battle. Very well fought."

"Thank you."

"That misfire from the Turbulent was a blessing from The Emperor, but you certainly wasted no time taking advantage." His smile seems to be more for the pirates than for Thorne, though she shares the expression.

"Blessing yes, misfire no." She steps back and pivots on one foot, gesturing toward the exit of the docking bay which will involve walking past the rest of that particular shift of bridge crew including us. "Some recently acquired archeotech allowed one of our astropaths to cause that at an opportune moment." She expounds as she starts walking. "Our tech-priests don't fully understand it yet, but they have confirmed it as the product of human hands. Or as they say, 'A Blessing of the Omnissiah.'"

"Interesting. I know some witches can accomplish such things unaided, though I've never had the fortune of combining opportunity with capability. Is it not a tremendous risk among the storms here?"

"Normally yes, but not with these devices." At this point they're even with us, and I have the opportunity to see his expression at that revelation from close range. His eyebrows rise a bit, but that's all, apparently not the most expressive of men, or just possessed of great self control.

"Indeed? That is quite the claim. You also said 'devices', there's more than one?"

Whatever answer our captain might have delivered is interrupted by a shouted "CAPTAIN!!!" and the short sharp rising whine of the safety being disengaged from a lasgun. One of his guards has spotted Graig's long tail and lunged forward to put himself between the apparent threat and his captain, lasgun snapping to his shoulder. As his finger tightens on the trigger I tense up involuntarily, we _knew_ this was likely to happen, and Graig argued that we simply allow it so long as it's not a plasma weapon or the like. That doesn't make it any easier to stand by while the soldier… doesn't actually finish pulling the trigger?

"Stand down." Dostev's hand is on his shoulder. "Note the third eyelid on her forehead, and the other Navigators standing around her."

"Good reflexes Captain Dostev." Graig compliments, while the guard gapes for a moment before re-safing his weapon and positioning the strap over his shoulder again.

"Sorry Captain." He apologizes "Navigator."

"First time seeing our kind?" Graig asks calmly, as though the man _hadn't_ just been pointing a lasgun at him. To be fair, he's taken far, far, worse hits in the past, but it would still have been quite unpleasant.

"Ah, yes sir. The navigators aboard the Relentless Thunder keep to themselves… I think? I haven't seen them sir."

"They do." Dostev confirms. "Though I can hardly fault them as they are unable to walk. However, I've never heard of your kind turning into snakes." The faint echoes of the future show the odds of violence still being _very_ high in the next few seconds. "That one is more commonly associated with _cultists_." He allows the disgust to show in his voice at the word, as though it tastes foul on his lips.

"Your Xan'Tai, they have the bodies of slugs?" Dostev simply tilts his head in a sort of quarter-nod. "As did I before being subject to the same archeotech as our astropath. I would quite prefer legs, but our genetor has confirmed this shape as a match for some serpent native to Holy Terra."

"Indeed." Turning back to Thorne he notes "You realize I will be including all of this in my report."

"Oh, please do. Now, I believe I was telling you more about the technology in question…"

I would _really_ love to know just how much of that initial almost-altercation was scripted, because if it wasn't, then the old captain has some impressive reflexes and situational awareness. Augmentic maybe? Even extensive augmentations are significantly cheaper than a cruiser.

Shaking my head a bit, I follow after as the pair of captains head for the lift. There's a formal dinner planned as we cruise through empty space, though the actual food is still just going to be long-lasting items. I'm certain our guest will understand.

As the lift carries everyone up to the top deck, from halfway down the side of the ship where that shuttle hangar is located, Thorne continues to tell Dostev about the collars. Meanwhile I can tell that his guards are still _incredibly_ nervous about the presence of such obvious mutants in the enclosed space with them. 'Kill the mutant' their training demands, and yet we're _Navigators_. Living among the Battlefleet, they don't have the same exposure to our kind due to the way Xan'Tai keeps to themselves. Though I'm not certain whether that's by choice or by regulation.

Even Marcella's _stunning_ green eyes, magnified as they are by the mutation that by all rights should have ruined their looks, serve to thoroughly unsettle them. Every time one meets her eyes they blanch and look away, searching for a safe direction to look. Again and again it happens, as guards they can't just _ignore_ us being present in the same lift cabin, and so they're forced to keep paying attention.

When the lift finally stops, they all breathe deep in relief at being out of a confined space with us, and even Captain Dostev shows a hint of relief as well. It's good to know how he really feels, but I liked thinking he _might_ actually be okay with us. Instead he simply has an excellent poker face. Ah well.

Graig is last out of the elevator, her long tail makes for a phenomenal tripping hazard, and her scales hiss across the decking behind us as we follow along with the rest of the assembled dignitaries.

It's not far to the formal dining room that's been prepared for this reception, and soon enough we're all taking our seats, Thorne at the head of the table with Dostev to her left, the right hand reserved for Commander Vinceries, as the old Voidmaster is named when not simply called by rank or 'old man'.

Plates are brought out under closhes, and well-dressed menials bring bottles of wine around to pour everyone a drink. Dostev stands up with his glass in hand the moment they're finished, and raises it high. "To the death of pirates." The toast is met with a hearty "Hear Hear!" from the rest of the room, disjoint as the choice of words may be from the current topic of conversation. It does make sense though, as their destruction is the cause for this feast.

I feel a bit like set-dressing as the meal progresses, and in all fairness I _am_. Despite being the sole source of the chokers, the Battlefleet Captain wouldn't take me seriously if I tried to participate in the discussion. Instead Thorne carries out Calligos' orders to her, of drumming up customers before he decides to commit to any hard purchases.

I can't even really make an end run around his markup as a middleman, since he's the one who literally has all the necessary licensing. House Cassini could keep it as a treasure of the house, we could turn it all over to the Mechanicus, but the right to buy and sell _literally anything_ is the sole prerogative of the ancient warrants. As a middleman he shields us from Inquisitorial Requisition, which in all fairness is a substantial service in its own right.

* * *

**Segmentum Obscurus**  
**Calixis Sector**  
**Halo Stars?**  
**Witch-Cursed System**  
**Heavy Transport - Writ of Surplus**  
**9.782.737M41**  
**Est. arrival at Port Wander 9.906.737**

The rather abrupt departure of the Relentless Thunder once Dostev returns is hardly a surprise. The Lunar class is substantially faster than the Writ, though not faster than our escorts, and soon outpaces us toward the Mandeville point on the Calixis-facing side of the system. "He's in a hurry." I remark, watching the drive plume exceed the length of the cruiser. Their own escorts are in the process of burning in from their extended search pattern, making ready to depart the system in good order.

Down on the bridge beneath the spire, I can hear the Captain barking orders. We never decelerated for the dinner, but with the drives silent for a few hours we _have_ lost time. Likely worth it in the grand scheme of things, the captain of a Battlefleet cruiser has the ears of powerful people. Not that Calligos doesn't, but they're different powerful people. For one thing, _Xan'Tai_ now knows the collars are for sale. And while the prices are certainly quite high, their size means they can afford to pay in daughters… or sons I guess, though they won't stay such for long. Alternately, their first-refusal contract with Battlefleet Calixis means they have oceans of money if that's what the Novator asks.

Somehow the departure of the Thunder allows the generally oppressive ambiance of the Witch-Cursed world to fall back in on the system. It's almost certainly just psychosomatic, but that doesn't stop me from feeling it. Turning away from the expansive view in the spire, I nod to Aunt Silvea and head for the stairs down to the bridge. As I reach the top though, a thought compels me to turn around and go give her a hug. She nearly sobs into my shoulder when my arms wrap around her, and her return embrace is a little shaky with emotion. Thinking about what to say… eventually I just decide not to say anything, the hug says enough for now, and she's not speaking either.

Eventually I do head down to the bridge, and by this point the brief bit of organized chaos is well over and done with, the thrum of the ship's plasma drive perceptible through my feet as it fills the ship. Simply nodding to Thorne, I head out behind her command throne and depart for the firing range. I haven't gotten in as much practice recently as I'd prefer, though the most common cause I wouldn't give up for the world.

* * *

**Segmentum Obscurus**  
**Calixis Sector**  
**Halo Stars?**  
**Witch-Cursed System**  
**Heavy Transport - Writ of Surplus**  
**9.807.737M41**  
**Est. arrival at Port Wander 9.906.737**

Quiet whimpers of pleasure rouse me from my sleep, for the first time in a _while_ Marcella awaking before me and still well-rested. I'd almost forgotten I left that play order in place, but now her muffled climax is serving as an alarm clock once again. Opening my eyes with a big smile, I turn my head to watch her writhing sensually in place, her fiery mane spread out across most of the bed and tangled around her limbs. Mine too, though I don't mind the entanglement. Rolling toward her and throwing my arm around her, I pull her close and press my face into the crown of her head, chuckling when her muffled cries get louder as she realizes I'm awake.

After another dozen seconds or so of trembling, she relaxes again and sighs contentedly, the scent of her orgasm starting to waft from under the sheets as our movement rustles them. "Been a while since that one kicked in." I comment cheerfully, and she nods in agreement, her face rubbing against my chest.

"A full night's sleep..." Her voice is full of wonder at the unusual occurrence, then she looks a little concerned and props herself up on her elbow, pulling her hair a bit in the process, to look over at the crib. Leaning up to look past her, I find Adella fast asleep with her face smooshed up against one of the bars, her tiny nose propped up hilariously and pulling her upper lip with it to expose gums. Her arm is sticking out, tiny fingers twitching in her dreams.

Snickering quietly, I comment "Oh for my pict-corder right now." 'Cella just giggles and nods, _that_ sound somehow waking Adella when the earlier sounds didn't. Her little face contorts a bit against the bar, and then she manages to roll away from it with a grumpy "Waaah!", the preface to proper wailing if we let her get rolling.

Before Marcella can free herself from her hair though, Elodia is there to lift Adella up and hold her close, humming quietly and bringing out the echoes to wrap gentle strands of golden light around her charge. It's not a _technique_ strictly speaking, it doesn't do anything other than glow with His light, but it's supremely comforting to those for whom that light was the first thing they ever saw. Stepping around the crib, she climbs onto our bed with us and lays Adella down between 'Cella and herself, leaning in closer with her head as though asking for a kiss. I happily oblige while Marcella gets our daughter situated for her breakfast.

"She ate two hours ago." Elodia informs us. "I was able to reach her before she could cry for once." Smiling gently, she strokes the fine soft hair adorning Adella's head. She's on her way to a flaming banner like her mother's I think, though it's still too early to tell for certain.

"Thank you." Marcella replies. "She's taking longer to scream?"

"And eating less often."

"But eating a _lot more_." I remark, watching her greedily drain my wife's breast. At some point in the past month she started taking more than half of 'Cella's supply at a go, though Elodia's more abundant chest is still barely affected.

"Takes after her father." She might be facing away, but I can _hear_ Marcella's eyeroll, and her smile, as she says that.

"Aww, you enjoy it too." She doesn't deny that, so I just lay there wrapped partway around her and watching our daughter suckle, Elodia laying down facing us and likewise watching with a big smile. We jump out of the system in another few days, at which point the luxury of sleeping on the same shifts will be lost to us again for a while. I'm darn well going to revel in it while it lasts.

* * *

**Segmentum Obscurus**  
**Calixis Sector**  
**Halo Stars**  
**Port Wander**  
**Heavy Transport - Writ of Surplus**  
**9.906.737M41**  
**Warp Timeslip Correction: +226**  
**7.232.738M41**

The system before us is awash with drive signatures, smaller freighters waiting for convoys to form before they risk the passage to Foothold. Elements of the battlefleet patrol the system here and there, shuttles buzz about in the far distance transferring cargo here and there as the wealth of a thousand worlds is funneled back into the Imperium from the 'glorious' frontier. It's a reminder that all the loneliness of the passage itself is an illusion, one formed of the fact that ships can so easily pass each other by in The Warp without even realizing the other is there, unless they're specifically hunting for them or traveling in convoy. The Stations of Passage seem lifeless, but only because most of the actual time of a journey is spent among the storms.

"Look, see that light way over there!" Wide eyes turn to follow my arm, staring out the window with all three lids open. The one I'm pointing to is a pilgrim ship, poorly adorned for something that size, but what decorations it has are entirely Ecclesiarchy derived. Of course, to our eyes it's something more, the faith of ten thousand pilgrims in one location is enough to leave their own little wake in the warp underlying their realspace trajectory. Actually explaining it to Adella is kind of pointless at this age, but it looks nice and she giggles at it, so that's a win. She's not looking any deeper than that at this age either, just as well considering what's down there.

Looking back at my face, she giggles some more and then looks past me with a big smile. "Ma...ma" Little arms reaching. Halfway to turning around just based on her gesture, I freeze for a moment to stare, then start laughing. From behind me I hear Marcella's squeee of joy at winning that particular parental lottery, and when I finish turning around I give her an exaggerated pout. She just laughs and reaches out to take Adella in her arms.

"That's right! 'Mama'. Can you say it again!?"

"Can you say 'Dada?'" Come on baby, give daddy some validation here! The pilgrim ship I was pointing out completely vacates my mind in favor of something much more important.

Of course, having both of us happily fawning over her is great from her perspective, and any chance of further words for the moment is lost in the happy giggling. Oh well.

* * *

**Segmentum Obscurus**  
**Calixis Sector**  
**Golgenna Reach**  
**Scintilla**  
**Heavy Transport - Writ of Surplus**  
**9.368.738M41**  
**Warp Timeslip Correction: +300**  
**7.668.738M41**

Scintilla, crown jewel of the Calixis sector… At least from some perspectives. I'm fairly certain that the Mechanicus would regard The Lathes as holding that title, but even if it's not a shrine world, the presence of an Inquisitorial Fortress elevates it quite high in the reckoning of the Ecclesiarchy as well.

That latter fact also makes my pulse rise every time I think about it. The rift opening into the Materium here felt like a doom bell tolling, like the hush of a crowd who are realizing in unison that something terrible is about to happen. The feeling itself might be entirely in my head, but that doesn't make it go away, neither does knowing that a Great Crusade era warrant protects me from the worst of their excesses.

What it does _not_ protect me from however, is their ability to shut down the spread of the chokers. Winterscale's protection won't help the overall plan if no one _without_ a warrant can wear one without being executed. And so here we are, sailing through the system without putting in at port, showing the flag and waiting, just _waiting_ for the Inquisition to stick their noses in. I'm not a huge fan of this plan, of wordlessly inviting them to come ask very pointy questions, but it's not my ship, and I have to admit it'll need to happen sooner or later.

Just… not now maybe?

The ship's chapel is fairly empty at the current time of day, no sermons presently being delivered, old Gizhaum making his rounds of the place and praying over the profusion of wards and holy symbols that cover the vast room. A few other crewmembers are scattered about across the pews that can hold a couple thousand at once, the very sound of the room much changed by being so empty.

Bowing my head and making the sign of the Aquila, I lean hard on the warp immediately around me, forcibly calming it with an effort of will. The deleterious effects it has on the natives of that realm aren't the goal here, rather I'm making myself easier to see by those who can do such a thing at all. "I know they work in your name, and most work by your will, but almost none hold more than the slightest scrap of your insight unless you grant it to them. You know I intend to give the schemer a kick in the teeth, simple existence might be enough to throw many of his plans into disarray, but I need more to have effects that stretch beyond a small handful. Whoever you send, or allow to be sent, please ensure they know the full stakes."

* * *

**Segmentum Obscurus**  
**Calixis Sector**  
**Golgenna Reach**  
**Scintilla**  
**Heavy Transport - Writ of Surplus**  
**7.670.738M41**

As the Inquisitor's shuttle comes in for a landing, I can see the denizens of the warp _howling_ in rage at the occupants, though they keep their distance as something aboard shines out brightly enough to keep them at bay in a rather strange manner I've never seen before. Chanting profane prayers that curdle the Immaterium around them, but failing to have much effect on the shuttle itself in the face of that brilliance.

There's something _incredibly_ intimidating about Malcador's sigil emblazoned upon the doors of the shuttle as it lands. Its heavy armament, the cruiser outside, they're simply window dressing for that sigil and the one authorized to show it. Sure, they're also his tools to carry out his commands, but he could replace them with others at a whim.

When the ramp lowers, several pairs of feet come into sight striding confidently down onto the decking, literal red carpet laid before them. In the lead is a… And suddenly the inquisitor isn't the most interesting person aboard that shuttle. Behind him is very distinctly an Astartes in unpainted armor, and the source of that Empyreal light. Without the shuttle in the way, I can just make out the wards buried under his skin. "Oh." I simply stare dumbfounded for what seems like a long time, though it can't have been more than a few seconds judging by how far they've walked. Recovering my senses, I bow very deeply indeed, though not to Inquisitor Valorus.

"Lord Astartes… Inquisitor." Another figure steps out from behind the Astartes, and I add a "Sister." to the list of titles with no small amount of surprise. "This is quite the turnout."

The man's stride barely adjusts to bring him more directly to stand in front of me. What can only be a grey knight lacking much of his iconography following close behind. It's the first time I can remember being in the same room with one of the transhuman soldiers, so it's a bit of a surprise when the 'transhuman dread' they're supposed to exude isn't nearly so strong as described. It takes a minute to put my finger on it, but the impossible fluidity of motion actually _is_ already familiar from a few family members, so maybe that explains it. "Interesting choice of precedence." Valorus chooses as his greeting when he comes to a halt, slate eyes regarding me coldly from slightly below my own eye level. The rest of his retinue comes to a halt in something of an arrow formation, the Astartes positioned just to his right and a gaggle of rather _unique_ looking individuals filling it out.

A couple meters away Captain Thorne looks a bit conflicted. He summarily ignored her, but then again, the _Inquisitor_ summarily _ignored_ her, and surely that's worth a sigh of relief if he wouldn't be able to hear it.

"With due respect Inquisitor, I can see his presence in The Warp, and how much The Enemy hates him." Nodding toward the Sororitas now standing to his left, I acknowledge "Her faith is also visible in the effects that it has, if less overwhelmingly bright. Would that our crew were all so devout, warp journeys would be much smoother."

"Hmph." Reaching up, he rather rudely grabs my pendant and pulls on it, yanking me around a little by the neck to get a better look.

"You could _ask_." I gripe.

"Quiet." I grit my teeth. Under the circumstances I _could_ actually tell him off, but I wouldn't get what I want out of the encounter if I did. Meeting the apparent Grey Knight's eyes over the top of the Inquisitor's head, I glance down and back up with a questioning expression. He just shrugs those enormous pauldrons a few millimeters.

After perhaps twenty seconds of such manhandling, Thorne steps in with a- Well, she's clearly trying to sound stern, but _Inquisitor_. "Unhand my navigator." When that doesn't work, she steps it up a bit. "My Lord's warrant exceeds your own in the matter of archeotech found in Calixis and Koronus. You are here as a courtesy Inquisitor."

"Doesn't look like much." Valorus finally declares, letting go. "But the halo artifacts are often subtle things as well.- Yes, I am aware of your genetor's report, but I must see the evidence with my own eyes."

"The origin device may be quite plain, but given the other manners in which it conforms its effects to my aesthetic preferences, that may mean nothing." I remark, flipping the pendant around a few times to unwind the chain. "The secondaries are aesthetically more appealing… Except to a tech-priest apparently" Holding it up with the back facing him I point out the tiny text 'registering' it to me. "Scripts of _Old_ Terra according to Eta Six Two Three. I'll take her word for it as I've not the training to recognize such."

"Those were also mentioned in the report, and they do appear as described. But markings which can be forged prove nothing."

Raising a hand, I beckon Elodia forward, asking "And what of Halo devices refusal to function for psykers or the Emperor Touched?" She and my guards are the only collared currently on the ship I'd risk around the Inquisitor's party for this first meeting. There are more household guards now, and more shock troops, but my first handful I trust to behave themselves without extensive orders when he gets handsy like he just did. Marcella and Silvea I won't risk, and Graig agreed quite readily that her presence would _not_ help anything. They're here in spirit though, watching through a couple servo-skulls hovering behind me, their voices capable of reaching my comm-bead should they see fit.

Lifting her chin to give the Inquisitor a better look, Elodia gives everyone her usual calm smile, showing a composure I'm slightly envious of. Admittedly she's had experiences like this before, in the Scholastia Psykana and before that aboard one of the Black Ships. For all that I face daemons on a regular basis, I generally do it from the other side of a gellar field, and they're the 'known danger' in comparison.

The Astartes, whose name I still don't have, reaches past the Inquisitor and grabs Elodia's head with one hand, fingers wrapping most of the way around her skull. Wisps of psychic light waft off of his fingers and play though her hair. His eyes glow with carefully leashed power as he does whatever it is he's doing, the glow rising as he starts pouring more power into the effect. The choker may grant immunity, but I'm not certain having it stop him cold is the best plan. It's a tense few minutes either way, the plan committed to with no room to change it now just because the psyker the Inquisitor brought with him is a fucking _Grey Knight_.

Making the sign of the Aquila, I offer a silent prayer… Okay, more of a baffled question really. _"When I asked for someone wise, this isn't what I meant. What did I miss?"_

It's a tense several minutes as the two of them remain frozen in that psychic tableau, but finally the knight pulls his hand away and nods. "Sing, blessed soul." And so she does.

Starting with a deep breath, Elodia belts out one of the battle-hymms we've been practicing marksmanship to for most of a year now, the already cavernous echo of the docking bay enhanced profoundly by her signature effect until it feels like we're in one of the grandest planetside cathedrals, the sort designed and built over generations as visual, architectural, and acoustic monuments to the God Emperor.

The sister's armor begins glowing, her eyes lighting up with holy radiance as her blessed bolter literally flies into her hands of its own accord. That is _not_ something Elodia's song normally does, so I'm caught off-guard by the sight, and then the Sororitas picks up the refrain of the song, singing of the Emperor's Wrath with a fierce joy that's quite something to behold.

As for Inquisitor Valorus? He raises an eyebrow.

Being a battle-hymn, Elodia's chosen song doesn't actually have a set duration anymore than a battle itself does. Instead it's written to have hundreds of different verses, each of them relatively short with different prayers built into the music, to shift as the battle shifts and keep soldiers sharp instead of lulling them with endless repetition. The tales of who wrote the thing vary, but given the number of different verses my money is on 'many people'.

She only sings for a couple minutes, which is mildly disappointing, I can and have listened to her singing for hours, but not what we need right now. As she brings it to a close for now, the Sister re-slings her weapon and shows what seems like a rare smile. "She is one of the least tainted psykers I've seen." the Astartes proclaims after another half a minute of staring at her intently. Trading a look with the Sister standing on the other side of Inquisitor Valorus, he nods when she does. "Such strong faith can stand any adversity. _Your_ virtue remains unproven."

That is _not_ the outcome I was hoping for, but there _is_ a point to be made here. "I am a _Navigator_ Inquisitor. To the best of my knowledge, only one organization in the Imperium has a more stellar record of loyalty in the face of the Great Enemy." I give the Sister a pointed look before returning my gaze to Valorus. "There's a reason they use sorcerers to guide most of their ships."

"The Ten Thousand still maintain a perfect record." Even speaking 'softly' his voice projects remarkably well. "More may exist, but if so they are classified."

"I stand corrected." I give him a shallow bow. "Still, of all the hands this archeotech could have awoken in…"

"You have your share of traitors, or has your house already forgotten the lessons of Tython?"

"The Elutrian Confederacy were _fools!_ " I hiss, shaking my head and slicing the air with a hand in a violently dismissive gesture. "We are no more the future of Mankind than _they_ are." I jab the index finger of my other hand toward the Astartes. "We are finely crafted tools of HIS will, and in certain ways we _are_ superior to the common man, that goes without question, but even the best auspex Augur array ever constructed cannot _move_ the ship! Nor can it strike the target it finds."

"Heh heh heh…" He laughs darkly and I realize I've been played, the wind abandoning my sails as I deflate a little. "It's remarkable how angry that comparison makes some of your kind." He waves a hand at Elodia. "One of that lot would never have taken an astropath in their service to begin with."

"Oh…" I can feel my cheeks heating as I try not to look sheepish about the affair. Indeed I can see some ways I could have handled that better now, but somehow they don't feel like they would have _ended_ better. Odd knowledge that's half foresight and half that instinctive understanding of what to say. Still feels strange that losing my temper, even just a _little_ was a good thing here?

"This is not the place to continue this." While I was musing on my brief loss of composure, he turned to the Captain to start apparently demanding more accommodations. "Brother Atoros and Sister Haneul will accompany me, my acolytes will interview the rest of the affected. We will require a number of rooms in which to do so. No shared walls, comfort is not a concern."

* * *

Apparently 'comfort is not a concern' was taken as an invitation to provide folding metal chairs with very flat seats. 'Brother Atoros' and 'Sister Haneul' don't seem to care much, the former being far too large for the chair anyway, and both being ensconced in power armor that renders the shape of any seat irrelevant anyway. The inquisitor and myself however end up with what may be the least comfortable chairs Thorne could have someone dig up on short notice.

Ignoring the discomfort for the moment, as does Valorus, I lean back against the hard metal and stare across the table at him. He just stares back, resting his elbows on the table and lacing his fingers together, a perfect Gendo pose, though the reference is thirty nine millenia out of date.  
...  
...  
...

Those eyes have to be augmentic, he hasn't blinked in several minutes. I'm not bothering with the staring contest, it's honestly beneath me to participate in such with a non-navigator I don't intend to kill. The room is rather boring to look around actually, just a currently-empty storage locker between layers of hull armoring, a metal box with two walls over ten meters thick, and two less than a centimeter thick. Oil stains adorn the floor, old and black with the dirty tread of countless menials over the years. There's a slight metallic tinge to the air, but not enough to be a real bother.

"Don't you have questions?" I ask in a bored tone, shifting uncomfortably on the metal seat. It's obvious he's deliberately making me squirm, but I can't find any future where he actually speaks up in the next few minutes, no matter what I say… Well, among the things I'd willingly say anyway. I don't bother looking for others.  
...  
...  
...

"So, what chapter are you? Those aren't Deathwatch colors, but I don't think I've come across records of any other chapters working so closely with the Inquisition."

"Do not ask."

"Hmph, let me guess, your Order is secret too?"

"Sacred Rose." She pointedly gestures at her stark white armor, but I just shrug.

"Could have been a lesser order. Like whatever chapter he's from." Her expression twitches, ever so slightly, when I make that remark. 'Antoros' moves not at all. "So what was that with your weapon when Elodia sang?" I redirect the subject, having confirmed her awareness of an extremely dangerous topic. "Does it do that often?"

"Not often, no."

As time drags on, the situation in the small room grows increasingly absurd. No questions, three implacable stares, no distractions, no explanations, nothing. Eventually I stand up and spin around the chair to lean against the back of it, letting my aching backside have a rest. "Kind of short on questions for an Inquisitor." He just quirks an eyebrow at me, and I think I detect the slightest hint of a smirk, but otherwise there's virtually no reaction.

Turning to Sister Haneul I try conversing with her. "The report you read, did it include the detachment we stationed on The Hermitage?"

"No."

"Ah, They might be particularly interesting to the Adepta Sororitas. On our way out to the Expanse this last time, we docked there to carry out some repairs. While we were there, I ventured out into the docks area to get a better look at the damage for myself." I sigh and shrug. "I was aiding the point defense fire controllers when the torpedo got through… That's not the point of the story though. While I was looking at the damage, my guards and I were approached by a psyker who had managed to slip past all the posted guards and get within speaking range of us." I glance over at Atoros, finding him apparently listening while remaining watchful. "He was possessed. I managed to lock him down long enough for my guards to shoot him, but I don't have the skill yet to permanently destroy even a lesser daemon, so the thing unfortunately escaped. Of course, there's never _just one_ possessed psyker when there's any at all, so we left a couple hundred troops there, with as many of the collars as we could spare at the time."

"A noble sacrifice." Haneul acknowledges.

"They won." I pause a beat to let that percolate. "Oh, they paid a heavy price, but they won. Those with the collars are still stationed there. It wouldn't do to allow one of the Stations of Passage to remain in the hands of The Enemy. Calligos agreed to keep them supplied, but I expect they could do with some training none of our forces can provide. Perfect, or nearly perfect, human bodies are far better than what most soldiers can achieve, so they might not be using them to best effect. They also lack the specific training your Orders provide against the threats they face."

"Don't try to recruit my retinue." Valorus growls.

"Unless she's a drill abbess, I don't think I _am_." I look between them, adding "You're not, are you?"

"No." That's in for what responses I get to the story, and the silence drags on for a bit.

"...Wow, you really aren't interested in talking."

"Not at this time." The Inquisitor declares, still staring intently at me. I'm beginning to suspect he has augmentic legs, or at least an augmentic ass, because he's still not showing any discomfort from the chair he's been provided.  
...  
...  
...

  


It's pretty clear that the long-term staredown is intended to throw me off, to make me nervous, a form of psychological torture that the warrant holder can't point to _as_ torture. As such things go it's not all that bad, though maybe without the defenses from the choker I'd be substantially _more_ rattled by the fucking Grey Knight in the room. It's entirely possible that he's doing something or other that should be rattling me more, but it's just rolling off of those instead.

Eventually though something else _finally_ happens. There's a ringing knock at the door, and one of his retinue brings in a thick sheaf of flimsy bound in a folder bearing the seal of the Inquisition. Accepting it from the… can't actually tell if that's a man or a woman. Either way, the Inquisitor places it on the table before him and pulls out a small device that renders the contents of the pages an indistinguishable blur from where I'm standing. Presumably he's exempt, or too close, or something, because he doesn't seem to have any difficulty reading page after page, taking his sweet time perusing whatever report his people have compiled for him.

After an hour or so of this slow pace, carefully scrutinizing each page, he finally snaps the folder shut again with an echoing clap and sets it aside, the tiny visual jammer disappearing back into his coat somewhere. "Your… _uncle_ is quite the interesting specimen. Turning him female is certainly an odd choice."

"To be precise, it wasn't _my_ choice."

"And yet you provided the device."

"I have my oaths, just as you have yours, and orders from my Novator. She is a loyal servant of The Emperor, and so however I may complain, I will still obey."

"Indeed. And the shape of... _her_ , body now?"

I shrug. "Some serpent from Holy Terra? Better than a slug or a worm. Returning to the sacred form of man would be _better_ of course, but if these things can reverse mutations instead of just altering them I haven't figured out _how_."

"And you don't think it blasphemous to try?"

"Fight the Enemy wherever you find them. On the ground, in the city, in orbit, in the dark between the stars, or within the dark of your own heart. Bring with you His light to cast aside their disguise and banish the shadows wherein they hide. Cast aside your doubts and your weakness, stand strong in your duty to His Glory." I forget where the quote's from, old Gizhaum read it to the crew last week, but it fits here. "If the Enemy has a foothold in your flesh, cut him out or drive him out, just so long as he is _gone_." Shrugging, I finish with "If their bodies could be restored, I'm pretty sure it's the Ecclesiarchy's job to test their soul afterwards. Or maybe yours."

"You don't think you're qualified?"

"Some of my kin can peer that deeply into someone's soul, but I'm not one of them and it's not my place if I were."

"I see." He takes a deep breath and glares at me. "And the astropaths you take to your bed?"

"What of them? They are properly sanctioned, even more so than most Primaris Psykers. The law does not permit them to conceive, and they haven't."

He resumes staring at me intensely, apparently returning to the long silent treatment. I just sigh and shift my posture. I _really_ want to know why Atoros is _really_ here, but I suspect I won't be getting an answer any time soon. Haneul makes sense, the Sisters often provide troops for the Ordo Hereticus. But the Grey Knights are usually limited to _Malleus_ operations.

  


* * *

"You cannot." One advantage of her changed eyes is the way most find them unsettling. Tristan still loves them, but even this hardened inquisitorial acolyte flinches back from a simple glare. Taking the opening, she sways to one side and backsteps, 'tripping' over a chair and catching herself, the furniture falling over between them and creating a temporary barrier. They'd expected everyone to be asked questions, but these fools have no idea how to handle her daughter. The guards by the door aren't as quick to come to her defense as Ligia's squad, who have already been taken for questioning. They step farther into the room toward the Inqisitor's lackey, but don't grab him just yet.

Her sharp movements, so unlike her normal gait, bring an ear-piercing wail to the room as her precious cargo complains loudly. Her heart clenches being unable to soothe her immediately, but she needs to deal with this 'Cristoph' first. "Her Eye is fully formed. If someone untrained holds her, they may be exposed to The Warp. Navigators are safe, and her wetnurse is trained. _You. Are. Not._ "

"I have my orders."

"Not on _this ship_." The guards seize Cristoph at this point, before he can do something even more stupid. "I will answer your questions, but you will _not_ separate us until you've released at least _one_ other person qualified to care for her." The guards frog-march him from the room at her nod, clearly nervous themselves about manhandling him, and as the door shuts she lets out a shaky breath before lifting precious Adella higher, holding her tight.

"It's okay baby. It's okay, mommy's here." The reassurances don't help all that much, not after all the jostling. It's going to take a while to calm her down again. A few steps carries her to a seat that's not tipped over, and she drops into it, holding Adella a little tighter and pressing her cheek against the soft downy hair atop her head. Leaning against The Warp just on the other side of the thin veil of the Materium, she enforces a small region of calm, taking what turbulence exists this far from the storms on herself to shelter Adella. It's not her forte like it is Trist's, and she smiles a little at the thought of feeling him doing this same for her, but it's enough to help right now.

After a minute Marcella realizes she's trembling, almost shivering for no good reason. Why is she trembling? The danger's been gone for several minutes. Trist's order to stay calm in the face of danger would have ended with it. She doesn't… "I guess I didn't really need your daddy's help with that after all." The laughter is a little hysterical, but it helps. It helps both of them actually, little Adella's cries trailing off when she hears laughter, confused at first, but joining in after a bit. "You don't- heeheehee- even know why- heehee -I'm laughing- hehahahehe -silly girl."

"Not very dignified of me huh?" She asks Adella once she's calmed down. "Laughing like that. I'm going to give your daddy an _earful_ later."

"Dada?"

"Yes, Dada nono. Mommy mad."

"Mama!" The flailing hand slapping her breast stings slightly, then grabs a little handful of cloth and starts pulling. 

"You need to be gentle. _Gentle._ At least Elodia taught you not to bite."  
...  
...

Eventually Elodia arrives at the door, escorted by that same acolyte from before. "You look exhausted." Her tired smile is reassuring, and when she crosses the room to sit next to her on the sofa Marcella holds her daughter close and kisses her forehead. "Be good for 'Dia okay?"

"Seen! Seen!"

"No."

She glares at the acolyte as she stands. "You would order her _not_ to sing His hymns to a child?"

"She will remain silent until you have vacated the room."

Old lessons on intrigue provide the reason, and she shakes her head as she crosses the room. "You know she's an _astropath_." The sound of the door snapping shut behind her punctuates the point. "And that Astartes already said she's pure. Brother Atoros, correct?"

"His word is good, _yours_ is under question. Remember that the pure may still be deceived by the impure." His tone just adds to the insult, but with Adella safe she buries the reaction. He obviously wants to rattle her, so refusing to let him is the appropriate course. The near future doesn't hold any loud echoes of death and suffering, so the coming danger isn't immediate. The warp roils with fear, just as it has since the crew learned an Inquisitor would be aboard, but nothing more.

Following him through the familiar corridors of the Writ, her braid bumping against her calves as normal, the pins holding it together a reassuring presence. As they approach the outer hull, opposite the shuttle bay where the Inquisitor's shuttle is docked, a number of the ship's officers meet her eyes before looking away. Their fear betrays them, and she can't help resenting their standing aside like this. _"The Inquisition merely performs the duty of its office. To further fear them is redundant; to hate them, heretical"… If only they cared more about collateral, or checking their targtets._

The room he leads her to is quite spartan, a table, two chairs, and a servo-skull hovering in the corner. "Sit down."

The long walk gave her time to settle her composure, and she draws ever so slightly on the future to move with enhanced grace. Something that unsettled the crew of the Writ when she first came aboard. If he wants her nervous, she can play the same game… she thinks. Staring across at him as he takes the other chair, she stops bothering to blink, as her changed eyes don't require it.

"Let's start from the beginning shall we?" It's not a question. "Where did the collars come from? How did your husband get his hands on them?"

"They were a wedding gift. Anton Coreas, Tristain's mother guided his vessel a long time ago. They looked like a nice set of matching necklaces."

"Did you notice anything unusual about them then?"

"Did we know they're archeotech?" Her simple stare into his eyes has him looking away after a bit.

"Or anything else."

"We were warned about the disappearing latches, but they had at least three previous owners who died very old." Her smile very carefully doesn't touch her eyes. "We weren't worried."

"This Anton Coreas, where is he now?"

"On an exploration mission. He's expected back in…" She pauses a moment, figuring the warp dilation they've experienced since then. "Eleven years now."

"What was the first sign you noticed that they were something more?"

"The extra Lady's collar that wasn't a warp-figment."

"Tell me about that."

"And you expect that to work? Throwing away The Emperor's currency in that manner might be considered treason."

"I _pray_ that it works Inquisitor." I answer flatly, having just informed him of the Ravening Glare's mission. "You are well aware how little my House can afford to lose six Navigators. But the plan was _not mine_." Leaning back in the uncomfortable chair, I shrug and cross my arms. "Lord Winterscale has the authority to order it, and he's being attacked on multiple fronts. If Aspyce hadn't managed to bend the ears of your compatriots sixteen years ago, things might be different."

"You question the Inquisition?" His tone is dangerous.

"I'm not questioning the guilt of her siblings, I'm questioning _her innocence_." I nearly snarl the end of the sentence. Leaning forward, I rest my elbows on the table and mimic his Gendo pose. "Let me tell you about our arrival at Lucian's Breath, where she set an ambush that _required_ knowing what that Corsair had done. Naturally I have no proof, and I'm biased, but the warrant's license to treat with Xenos does not extend to allying with them against other loyal subjects of The Emperor..."  
...  
...  
...

When I'm eventually released, I feel distinctly like a wrung-out sponge. Every answer I gave was questioned, and questioned again, but not immediately. Trying to catch me in a lie I expect, to find my story changing from one telling to the next. He didn't get it, not meaningfully, but jumping around like that- Shaking my head and turning down the corridor away from where he's now holed up with the high ranking members of his retinue, I start trudging back toward the more populous areas of the ship. The interstitial space between layers of armor was chosen for the lack of traffic, no essential systems live in that gap, and the only structures are nonessential storage and the ship's firing ranges. Hell, there's a several minute walk to the nearest lift from this one.

"You look exhausted Milord." Ligia greets as I approach the doors of said lift, and I smile at the unequivocally friendly face. I'm sure she's bugged somehow, because _Inquisitor_ , but as the doors close I don't care enough to not embrace her. He knows about the attraction the collars create already, so there's no point hiding it. I just can't issue any Commands until we've found all of them.

"You don't look terribly fresh yourself." I murmur into the top of her helmet, enjoying her return embrace even with the armor. She chuckles and nods, carapace armor rubbing against my cheek. It's nice being able to just rest my head atop hers like this, even if the helmet isn't the most comfortable surface.

"Boarding actions are easier." I snort at that, but she's the one who's actually _experienced_ both so I can't really contradict her.

"I'll have to see about giving all the collared a bonus after this… Not all at once mind you, that might be excessive."

"May I be first?"

"That's a question for Marcella." I answer with a grin, somewhat certain that the answer will be 'yes, while she watches.'  
...

*Slap* "Bwuh!?" I'm still rather stunned by the slap when Marcella's arms wrap around me and she gives me what might be the tightest hug of her life. "Can I get an explanation!?"

"They tried to separate her from Adella." It's Elodia that answers, and it really does explain everything. Our little girl is currently curled up against the Astropath's shoulder with her eyes fixed on 'Cella and me. Crushing the urge to turn around and go strangle Valorus, I'd never get past a _Grey Knight_ anyway, I return my wife's desperate hug while asking "I'm going to need more details."

 _"It was a deliberate provocation Milord."_ Thalia's voice murmurs in my mind, sounding exhausted after her own bout with the Inquisitor's retinue. _"Cristoph was ordered to anger her."_

"You going to tell 'Cella that?"

 _"Not with their Autosavant still buried in the Writ's cogitators."_ Sighing, I release the hug and pick my lovely wife up to carry her over and sit next to Elodia on the couch. As she snuggles into me, I bring one hand up to the back of her neck and start massaging, carefully and deliberately driving out the tension in a way that keeps her from focusing on the stress that caused it. I'm sure she has _plenty_ to say about it, but if the Inquisitor might be listening...

* * *

"You are absolutely certain?"

"I'm never _absolutely_ certain Sir, but I am _quite_ certain. Had I pressed the matter she would have killed me herself. I think she could do it too, she moves like Ostan, she and her Aunt both do."

"Well done Cristoph. That was at oh nine six two ship time?"

"Yes sir." Valorous checks his notes and nods. "Cross reference the other interrogations at that time. If there's something there I want to know about it."

"I don't have to look. Astropath Casuat stopped talking for a minute and ignored my prompting. It was unusual enough to note the time."

"That one is easily explained without the artifacts."

"True, but it also explains _any of the others_ reacting at that time."

"Your point is well made." Valourus sighs. "The loss of Endeson is most irritating, I should have liked to expose these astropaths to him for their interrogations."

"He died well." Brother Atoros remarks. "In service to His Will. But he would have been useful here."

"All those wearing these artifacts are far more skilled than they should be." Elsena contributes, the autosavant's voice slightly rattly through the voice-coder she's wearing for the report. She's still plugged into the ship's cogitators, mining additional data even as her report is delivered. "His guards, the first to wear collars after they _claim_ to have discovered the effects, show tremendous improvement in their range scores in the immediate aftermath." Clearing her throat, she continues. "As do the young Navigator and his wife. The inflection point for _his_ improvement predates their claimed date of discovery by four fractions, but that data point is also within his previous personal best. All other inflection points post-date their claimed date of discovery.

"I estimate their designated markswoman will reach Vindicare standard in less than five years. Equipment and infiltration training aside obviously. Tristain and Marcella have both been destroying a revealingly large number of target plates during their time in the practice range, the damage patterns are consistent with Ostan's imitation power-weapon effect. Furtherm-"

"They what?" The Inquisitor interrupts.

"Five centimeter by fifty plassteel plates cut in half with a single hellgun shot. Ostan uses a shredder pistol, but the damage done is consistent, Inquisitor. There are also references to precognitive aiming in their training notes. Their house apparently refers to it as Seeking the Path. In light of their troubles during the Chorda Succession, I am unsurprised they would focus on personal combat capability, though I remember something about training too hard being unhealthy for Homo Navis...

"In either case, records indicate their serpent survived multiple bolter shells in a bathrobe, protecting -At the time _his-_ wife with his body during said succession. The ship's chaplain recorded in his journal that a test with Blessed Promethium found her to be pure-"

"I will check his rites." Sister Haneul declares, turning toward the door. "Unless you need me to stay Inquisitor?"

"No, no, that sounds quite prudent. Elsena, continue."

"Yes Inquisitor. The song Astropath Chandier sung at Brother Atoros' prompting appears to be part of their standard training regimen, lending credence to the claim that they need not worry about the usual hazards of psychic power usage. I am aware they can be overcome with practice and willpower-" She nods to the Astartes in the room. "-but not in the timeframe found in the ship's records."

"And any signs of tampering?"

"Not recently. The machine spirit is fond of her Navigators, but that is relatively normal with a properly functioning Navigator's Throne."

* * *

**"Minister!"** The sharp bark startles the old man, and as he twists to look at who shouted, the censer he's holding begins to swing somewhat wildly.

"Sister!" His free hand rises in greeting, before moving to assist in bringing the smoking censer back under control, carefully avoiding the unpleasant burns that might result from touching the main body while it's hot. "It is an honor to have you in my chapel." The fire in his eyes sparks higher, and he stands straighter despite the creaking of old bones. "Come, walk with me and ask your questions while I continue His work."

"Which rite are you observing?" She asks, the boots of her power armor loudly clicking across the floor.

"Tread of the Righteous, Chirosius's variation."

"You expect traitors ahead?"

"Oh I hope not." Swinging the censer again and resuming his steps, he heads up the center aisle away from his pulpit and the statue of His Grace behind it, symbolically carrying his breath to the far reaches. "But I certainly wouldn't want to miss their presence if they're there."

"Wise." There's more to say still, but she can wait for the litany against treason before saying it. Instead she joins him in prayer for a few minutes, carefully observing his fervor even as she raises her own voice. His recital shows the familiarity of frequent use, but there's little of the boredom she'd expect if he were showing lip service. Instead of drifting away, the smoke from the censer gathers around them, the faint golden hue darkening with the concentration and filling the nose with purifying vapors before finally dispersing.

"Ahhh, I've missed that." He breathes as the litany comes to a close.

"Pardon?"

"Suzette has a fire much like yours, merely a different calling out of the progenium. Praying with her was a blessing. Now she ministers to the souls of the Maw Hellwardens. My other trainees are faithful enough, but their fire doesn't have the same intensity."

"Tell me about these Hellwardens while I inspect your holy promethium canisters."

"Of course. Please, join me in my sacristy. My weapon cabinet is there." Turning back toward the front of the chapel, he leads the way again, showing no sign of discomfort in having her at his back. "I witnessed the most remarkable thing recently, and I'm eager to learn what you find."

"That is precisely why I'm here."

Leading her back around behind the statue that dominates the chapel, he opens the door and waves a hand expansively at the somewhat crowded space. Large drums line the edges of the floor, labeled with the names of various incenses and oils used in a variety of rites. Above them stand shelves holding well-preserved but also well-used texts of the Imperial Cult, the leather bindings showing their age even while the thick gold slipcases gleam in the light of oil lamps.

Farther back is a wall dedicated to a collection of flamers, their mounts arranged to form the wings of the Aquila. The talons of the figure wrap around a pair of barrels on the floor, and shelves to either side of them hold filled canisters for the weapons above. A few carry the wax seals denoting them as having been blessed, though most are unadorned. "Most of my blessed supply was left with the Hellwardens. By all accounts they made good use of it, but re-supplying the gellar-guards has taken higher priority than my personal stock." grabbing one of the waxed canisters, he offers it to Haneul.

As she inspects the seals, pressing her armored glove against the edge to check the integrity, holding it up to the light, closely examining the form for any unapproved alterations and so on, she also listens to his description of the force the ship left behind to dig out a cult along what is a major trade route. The tale matches up where it crosses at all, most of his concern being with the faith of the men and women left behind, and the disposition of their souls for The Emperor when they fell in battle. The artifacts themselves he claims to have left to the Mechanicus.

With her initial inspection done, and his tale ended, she holds the canister it to her breast and bows her head, praying for insight and throwing the judgement out for The Emperor's guidance. The old priest bows his head and joins her in prayer, forming the sign of The Aquila with his own hands free.

She's expecting to spend hours in prayer, favored as the Sororitas might be, His blessings only come to them quickly while on the battlefield. In times and places of safety they must practice patience.

Indeed, as the time spent drags on, the old priest begins to falter occasionally, old joints cracking as he shifts his posture every few minutes. His voice doesn't falter when his body does though, and he doesn't complain, even as the minutes drag into hours.

* * *

**Segmentum Obscurus**  
**Calixis Sector**  
**Golgenna Reach**  
**Scintilla**  
**Heavy Transport - Writ of Surplus**  
**7.672.738M41**

Waking after a very fitful night's sleep, I find Marcella and Adella both in my arms, my wife apparently having gotten up while I was asleep to bring her closer. She's still awake, eyes looking as haggard as I feel, but at peace for the moment as she just stares at our daughter sleeping in her arms. Mine are wrapped around the pair of them, and I blearily wonder how 'Cella managed to get up and back without waking me. It doesn't matter enough to care about though, so I instead turn my thoughts to treasuring what I have and trying to figure out how to keep them safe.

"No word from the Inquisitor overnight?" I ask quietly, not really expecting an answer.

"I don't think so… Your plan was terrible." Her eyes flick over to mine, the fiery green showing plenty of irritation that I probably deserve. As thrilled as I am they kept their color, they're a lot _better_ at expressing emotion now, which is… not great right now.

"You're right. It's a terrible plan, but all the others we could think up were worse. In any case, it wasn't entirely mine remember?" I remind her gently. "Given unlimited time maybe I could have come up with something _better_ , but every delay would make it more difficult." Smiling wryly, I brush a stray lock of her mane out of her face, cupping her cheek in my hand. "Remind me, who was it that pointed that part out?" She sighs at the reminder. "I agreed then, and I still agree now. There's zero possibility these things escape Inquisitorial notice forever, and the longer we avoid them, the worse it looks… _Would have_ looked, bit late now.

"Neither of us has perfect foresight, if we did, we could have trained a nanny _without_ a collar and plotted a course around the entire problem. I missed it, you missed it, Silvea and Graig missed it. But-" propping myself up on my elbow, I shift to plant a gentle kiss on my sleeping daughter's forehead. She blurbles something incoherent and opens her eyes just long enough to attempt a hug, then returns to her snoring, hands having successfully grabbed my ears. "Uh… At least she's safe now."

"I want a pict-capture of this." Marcella gets out, trying to suppress giggles at the abrupt change in the mood brought about by our tiny child.

* * *

**Segmentum Obscurus**  
**Calixis Sector**  
**Golgenna Reach**  
**Scintilla**  
**Heavy Transport - Writ of Surplus**  
**7.681.738M41**

"Anyone else would be living in a cell until this investigation is complete." The man's dark eyes bore into mine, as though he could achieve through pure intent what he hasn't in three days of interrogating the crew. I'm sure he would have gotten more if he were permitted his usual methods, people will confess to things they didn't do under torture, but at least all he's obtained so far is truths, as far as I know… They're just incomplete. "Unfortunately there's only so far I can delay a Warranted ship with words alone. You _will_ be seeing me again." The ship is nearing the Mandeville Point, and with it his window of opportunity.

"We're on the same side, Inquisitor. Even if we don't see eye to eye." Reaching inside my robe, slowly because _several_ of the people present are both heavily armed and twitchy, I grasp several chokers and pull them out. "I expect your investigations will be easier if you can subject a known quantity to them. Perhaps there are Sisters Repentia near enough at hand?" I direct my gaze to Sister Haneul for the question. "I don't believe it's dangerous enough for the absolution they seek, but that's the crux of the matter isn't it? I trust my genetor, I trust the men who built this long ages ago, you mistrust everything, as befits your office." The gleaming bands click slightly against the table as I lay them down, before abruptly lifting off again enveloped in a sparking nimbus.

Looking over at the psyker in the room, I find Atoros holding out a stasis cylinder I hadn't realized was among his gear. Closing the lid after them, he nods to his… I'm actually not sure what the relative rank of a Grey Knight is to an Inquisitor. Between them Valorus is certainly calling the shots, or they want it to look that way. With a marine of any other chapter there'd be no question after all.

"I had expected you to attempt to bargain for them." Valorus stands from his seat and half-turns toward the door. "Why so accommodating after hiding behind the Winterscale warrant?"

"But I am bargaining for them. Your word as an Inquisitor is worth a great deal. When they pass your tests, I will tell my customers about it. "Don't worry, the Inquisition already investigated them." Is an excellent tool to assuage the fears of the loyal. The fears of the _disloyal_ less so, but why would I want to?"

"You would claim my name?"

"I think I will have your permission. I've already shared my vision for the future with you. You know how much the Imperium would benefit from a planetary governor who's invisible to prophesy. Or a Captain who can't be accounted for by the Farseers of the Eldar, or the sorcerers of Chaos? An admiral in the battlefleet? A Sister Superior?" I shake my head. "We've covered that ground a half-dozen times already. When they pass your test, you will agree. Assuming you're at least as loyal as I think you are. "Maybe you'd prefer to start closer to home. One of your retinue invisible to prophecy, even if _all they did_ was flip a coin for you every so often? What would that be worth?"

 **"Valorus himself."** Was that a joke? Are grey knights allowed to joke?

"'Herself' if that came to pass." Valorus corrects. "But even should they pass examination, the attraction they impose is unacceptable. I will not be compromised so easily." With that he strides out of the claustrophobic room, in much the same way he has on many occasions now.

Sister Haneul follows him out, but before Atoros joins them, there's a flicker of light along the walls of the room, briefly cutting out the view of The Warp. Looking more closely I can still see it, but as though through smoked glass. "What the-!?"

**"Should they pass muster, house Zegenda will also require a small number."**

Being a bit rattled at the moment, it takes a minute to dredge up the memory from history lessons about the Heresy from the perspective of the Navis. "Wait, didn't… Oh, what was his name, Mortarion's lieutenant…" I snap my fingers. "Typhon, right. Didn't he accuse them of conspiring with Malcador and wipe them out?"

**"He was quite correct, which is why he failed."**

I can't imagine the Inquisitor was expecting Atoros to reveal that House Zegenda survives… Actually, I'm not sure _he_ knew either. It'd make sense for a secret chapter to have a secret House Navis to guide their ships, if only for operational security. But _why tell me_!?

"I get the feeling this is a test." I speak up. "But I don't know what the conditions are."

**"HE doesn't make a habit of setting simple tests."**

"Uh-" I'm sure I look like a flash-banged grox at the moment, flesh eyes staring wide open, jaw hanging slightly. Oh, sure, I've been _praying_ for a sign, but this is rather more direct than I expected. "I'll try not to disappoint?"

 **"See that you don't."** His message delivered, he steps out of the room and turns to follow the Inquisitor.   
...  
...

Figures the most rattling thing about the whole encounter would come at the end. Finally recovering my composure some minutes later, I stand and make my own way back to the more populated areas of the ship. As I walk, I bring up the interface for my choker, and revert a few changes made earlier. With the ability to feel it restored, the seething rage over his actions that first day returns in full, and I amend my thought about when the most rattling event happened.

It may take a long time, but one day Valorus _will_ pay for that.

* * *

**Segmentum Obscurus**  
**Calixis Sector**  
**Golgenna Reach**  
**The Warp**  
**Heavy Transport - Writ of Surplus**  
**9.684.738M41**

With the cable from the Navigator's Throne hooked into my spine, the controls laid out in front of me are mostly redundant in calm areas of The Warp. Which means I can lock them out and allow Adella to stand against my leg, holding onto my pants to keep her feet. Walking is still a bit beyond her, but give her something to grip and she's good. 'Cella is seated on the edge of the low dais in the middle of the spire, paying more attention to our daughter than to the Warp outside.

Leaning down a bit, I ruffle Adella's hair and smile when she giggles. "Dada!"

"Hey baby girl. Enjoying the view?" After a few seconds of no reply, I glance down and find her expression showing she's trying to figure out what I said. "No headband, eye open?"

"YAY!!!" Hopping in place a few times, she loses her balance and falls on her butt. "Aaaah!-" There's a burst of light from her Warp Eye as she channels a little harder in her shock, but there's nothing in this room that's vulnerable to that.

"Oops!" Marcella leans closer to fuss over her for a bit, but she fell all of twenty centimeters so she's fine. It's good to be close to the ground if you're going to fall down. Laughing a little, I return my attention to the hellscape outside, casting my gaze out to look for any threats along our intended course. Having my family here on the Spire with me is wonderful, but I can't let them distract me too much, even when there's no storm nearby.

Overall it's a balm to the soul, having the damned Inquisitor _off_ the ship and left back in the Scintilla system, having my family around me, the ship's Inquisitorial death count from that visit was a whopping _one_ who'd slipped through the warp corruption checks after our last Maw traversal. I'm still going to kill him and Cristoph for that stunt… eventually. For now I need him, and soon I expect he will need me.

I'm still waiting for them to use those sample collars I gave them.

* * *

The cold flagstones against her knees ache from hours unmoving, the dull pain is almost unnoticeable against the weeping tracks covering her back, but as the only pain still changing it remains clear against that backdrop. Next to her lays the stained cat where she dropped it after completing her strikes for the evening, her hands better occupied now with clutching a golden Aquila to her face, lips brushing over the surface almost like a kiss as she whispers prayers for redemption. With every word tears fall and young faces flash before her eyes, begging for help she couldn't give, bodies already twisting and warping in horrifying ways thanks to their parents vile acts. She hears the roar of the flames and crackling of boiled flesh, the smell of seared skin for once not a source of satisfaction.

If only she'd been faster.

If only she'd seen the signs sooner.

If only she'd skipped mass to check up on a feeling of wrongness.

Their parents were unquestionably beyond saving, but the children might have been saved if she'd listened to the signs just a little better.

Time drags on into the night and her prayers continue. The wounds on her back stop weeping and scab over, slowly healing even as she pushes herself to continue without rest. Eventually ~~Sister Lyni~~ the Repentia collapses in place, sleeping on the cold stone floor. Her dreams are filled with fire and failure, while her future is filled with the roar of chainswords and armor of faith alone.  
...  
...  
...

"Repentia, wake up."

"Wake up." The ceramite boot to her ribs does the job when voice alone fails. Eyes still reddened with tears and dark with lack of sleep snap open and she scrambles to kneel.

"Sister Gwyniael. What is required?" The inquisitor standing next to her Sister Superior is noteworthy, but she makes no move to cover her nude form, the garb of a sister in good standing something she cast aside in her failure.

"Put this on." Raising her head, she finds the Inquisitor holding out what appears to be a fashionable choker, inscribed with text in the outline of an aquila surrounding a large gem. Looking to Gwyniael and receiving a nod, Lyni reaches out to take the jewelry and get a closer look.

**To your eternal good health.  
Stand strong against the Emperor's Foes,  
whoever and wherever they may be,  
unyielding and unfaltering,  
for all time.**

"I don't understand." She speaks, though her hands don't stop their movements in finding and undoing the clasp.

"Untested archeotech." Sister Gwyniael's answer gives her only a second's pause, before she hurries to complete the instruction.

When she gets the delicate seeming clasp latched around the back of her neck, the material shifts under her fingers, prompting a slight gasp, though the way it also tightens to a snug fit without impairing her breathing is likewise surprising. "The clasp has vanished." She reports faithfully, assuming they want her to report on the experience. "And there is an unusual sensation spreading across my back and scalp."

"Turn around."

Twisting around while still on her abraded knees brings expected pain, though not as much as there should be. "My knees do not hurt as they should."

"I don't see anything, yet. See that she is watched at all times until further notice. Report any and all changes, no matter how slight."

"As you wish Inquisitor." Sister Superior Gwyniael answers, tapping her ear to activate the comm-bead nestled within. "Sister Palicia, attend."

...  
...  
...  
It takes only minutes for the Repentia to find herself surrounded by Sisters Famulous, Diologus, and Hospitaler. Each watching with keen eyes, searching her nude form for the slightest hint of corruption or subversion. The room fills with the quiet scribbling of stylus against data-slate, the low whirring of servo-skulls underlying the sharper sounds as a small swarm circles around recording everything.

"Arms out." The motion is nearly effortless, despite her interrupted rest and prior exhaustion. "Feet apart… Wider… Wider... Good, hold." The chill of cold steel against tender flesh makes her lips twitch, but she welcomes the discomfort as the instruments are slid inside her by the kneeling sister and perfunctorily cranked open. The position is hardly ideal for a gynecological examination, but without obscuring the view of her decreasingly-flayed back there's little other option. The speculum splits her painfully wide, but this too is welcomed as another form of penitence. "Forty percent greater elasticity as compared to her last examination. Ninety-eighth percentile for pure human female. Does this hurt?"

"Yes sister."

"Report pain comparative every five seconds." With that instruction, she brings more instruments to bear, their precise nature lost on the Repentia given her gaze fixed directly ahead, but the deep stabbing prick of a needle is familiar, as is the slight burn of the fast-acting relaxant.

"Four. Fading."

"Interesting." The sister on her knees continues working, deep and uncomfortable probing slides farther than her body believes it should, and she suppresses a shudder. The slender wand may only be visible in her minds eye now, but she's familiar with what it must be. It keeps sliding in, followed by a stabbing pain even deeper inside and an ache so intense she nearly bends over despite the orders to stand straight. Her arms waver before she forces them back out again, sucking air through her teeth.

"Seven." She groans out, longing to spend her voice on prayer instead of reports. To pull her arms in for the sign of the Aquila, to do _something_ more than simply stand by without truly participating in this chance at redemption. "Possibly eight? Worse than a stubber wound."

"One moment." There's more clattering, and another cold tool slides up inside her before pausing. "The anesthetic I used was ineffective. Do you want me to try a different formulation?"

"No but… Inquisitor will want" She groans out, sucking air back in with effort. "to know about drug resistance."

"I suppose he would." The stabbing of the needle this time is slightly less, thinner? Gentler? No, for her gentle would be insulting. Whatever is being injected this time feels cold, icy fingers clamping around the pain and soothing it without blocking it completely.

"Five." The relief mixed into her voice is shameful, her failure calls for unwavering acceptance of any pain she's called to suffer, but mercifully none of the Sisters in the room make remarks on it. A few minutes of reduced suffering pass by before the tools are withdrawn and she's allowed to tighten up again with the removal of the speculum.

"Interesting." The comment doesn't get an explanation, not voiced to her at least, and she puts it out of her mind.  
...  
...  
...

As the hours wear on her watchers and examiners come and go, poking, prodding, occasionally stabbing with needles of various sizes. Orders to change her posture are given on a regular basis, with no opportunity allowed for rest. Yet despite that she finds her mind growing more alert with the passing hours, the pain of her back fading far too soon and her muscles refusing to offer complaint about the lack of rest.

"How long has it been?"

"Impatience is unbecoming a Repentia." Gwyniael's stern voice behind her reveals she's returned to observe.

"I will remain here forever if that is my duty. I ask because I feel no fatigue."

"Then simply report that. The duration of this trial will not be known to you until its end."

"Yes Sister." Louder footsteps clack across the floor, approaching her from behind, and then a power-armored hand touches the skin of her back, the hard edges scrape along her skin, and she braces for the pain as they approach the wounds she knows are still there, only for the glove to meet unbroken skin. The texture seems off, but she can't quite identify how. "That is not as painful as it should be."

"Your back is healed."

"When the Inquisitor's test is over I will remedy that." She assures the Sister Superior hastily.

"No, you will do it once the collar finishes changing your body. He wants to know if it will heal your back again."

"Thank you Sister. May The Emperor's light guide your steps."

"And may you find your way back."  
...  
...  
...

*Thwasck!* Gritting her teeth, she allows the pain to wash over her, breathing out sharply but not without offering a harshly whispered word of prayer, a word or two with each strike.  
"Lord"  
*Ka-thwak!* "of Man"  
*Ka-thwak!* "I stumbled"  
*Ka-thwak!* "from grace"  
*Ka-thwak!* "I seek"  
*Ka-thwak!* "your light"  
*Ka-thwak!* "and your"  
*Ka-thwak!* "punishment"  
*Ka-thwak!* "that I"  
*Ka-thwak!* "may"  
*Ka-thwak!* "redeem"  
*Ka-thwak!* "my sins"

The thirteen barbs knotted in the ends of the lashes don't seem to dig quite as deep as they once did, for all that her arm can swing so much harder. Her blood clots more quickly as well when the lashes finally break through. And yet… And yet the pain is brighter, more intense than she remembers, but that could just be her new clarity of mind. Her eyes are keener, her hearing more acute, her nose as good as the best sommelier. Whatever this collar the Inquisitor brought, it's made everything about her _more_.

Shaving her scalp has become a daily ritual, her hair there growing so quickly she almost suspects it's compensating for the _rest_ of her body's hair falling out. An idle thought regarding how one of those sisters of Our Martyred Lady would react to her roots showing every day tries to bring a smile to her lips, but snapping the cat over her shoulder again restores her focus.

* * *

**Segmentum Obscurus**  
**Calixis Sector**  
**Golgenna Reach**  
**The Lathes**  
**Heavy Transport - Writ of Surplus**  
**9.716.738M41**

The spire is eerily quiet for the moment, the Warp outside seeming to hold its breath, and not even a whisper drifting up the stairs from the bridge. Sure, it's the graveyard shift so that makes sense, but I'd still prefer a little more life around me. Sighing a little grumpily, I cast my mind out ahead of the ship once again, seeking through the countless futures available amidst the currents here to find the safest path. Scintilla to The Lathes sees enough traffic that there's not a speck out here un-mapped, but it's good practice to spot faint differences between available courses.

Ideally I'd be on some other shift, but I'm not going to saddle Marcella with it, even if she's in the rotation now, and Silvea's out of the rotation until sometime next month. That just leaves me and Graig to trade the graveyard shift back and forth… Thinking back, I have to marvel at how well those two made a two-Navigator team work with raising a pair of young children, and without nannies immune to warp exposure either.

The shift drags on, blessedly boring for a stretch of hours in the Warp, but eventually the quiet is interrupted. _"Silvea is in labor."_ It's Gabrielle's mental voice, which has finally finishes shifting to match her altered body's physical voice.

 _"I can't leave my station."_ I hold the thought in the forefront of my mind for her, distant reading of thoughts that aren't actively broadcast isn't one of the skills she's mastered yet.

 _"I know, but I thought you should know. I'll keep you informed."_ She replies.

 _"Thank you."_ I'm still a bit irritated with Silvea, but even when you're mad at family, they're still _family_. Eta has access to the collar settings, so there's no real reason for concern, but tell that to my hindbrain.

Out in the Warp around us, the emotional charge of the event is picking up the activity of the predators. They always start swarming for a birth in their domain, and a flying city of ten thousand sees a couple a week, give or take. The Writ _growls_ irritably at them, but doesn't have the means to lash out. Mentally patting the loyal spirit, I lash out with the vanes where I can, barely making a dent in the total numbers, but even a pinprick is a victory if your own wounds are nonexistent. _"Gellar field holding at nine nine dot eight… seven… six… stabilizing. Holding at nine nine six."_ Yeah, they're not getting through.

 **Segmentum Obscurus**  
**Calixis Sector**  
**Golgenna Reach**  
**The Lathes**  
**Heavy Transport - Writ of Surplus**  
**9.718.738M41**

Maybe it's appropriate that all my residual anger at Silvea evaporates at the sight. Adella seated in her lap, with Caleb 'held' in her arms. Silvea's doing the actual holding of course, but my daughter is 'helping'. "That's your little brother sweetie. Your half-brother." Adella just looks confused. "Your daddy is his daddy, but I'm his mommy." I don't think she really understands the concept of a half-sibling yet, since that just makes her look more confused.

Crossing the room to sit next to them, I wordlessly hold out my arms and find Silvea transferring both children to my lap. It's not what I intended exactly, but also not unwelcome. "Dada."

"Hi baby girl. What do you think? Is he tiny? You haven't seen anyone smaller than you before huh?" She shakes her little head, then squirms around so she can lean sideways against my chest, snuggling in close. The movement wakes Caleb, and he screws his face up in preparation to scream, but Silvea reacts too quickly for him to get a full head of steam, snatching him up and sticking a nipple in his mouth.

"WaaaAA-..." The building scream cuts off and he accepts the offering, suddenly content with the world.

"Sowwy."

"It's okay 'Della, but good job apologizing."

 **Segmentum Obscurus**  
**Calixis Sector**  
**Golgenna Reach**  
**The Lathes**  
**Heavy Transport - Writ of Surplus**  
**9.733.738M41**  
**Warp Timeslip Correction: +40**  
**7.773.738M41**

"Relax boy!" It doesn't have the same gravitas with her new voice, but somehow it still stops me in my tracks. Instead of turning back toward my room to leave Graig to her bath in peace, I look back to where she's taking up half the bath. "I won't bite, that's Silvea's job. Come, the water is particularly soothing today."

"That's because you had the last shift before transition."

"Mere supposition." She harrumphs, which somehow lacks the gravitas she used to be able to inject, and puts her nose in the air for a moment. When she looks at me again though I can _see_ the desire in her eyes, and it's still rather off-putting even if she keeps it under tighter wraps than Silvea. She's… making an effort though, and that's worth meeting halfway I suppose.

Proceeding into the bathing room, I quickly climb down into the water where the surface provides a little privacy, leaning back against the side while sitting on the bench at the opposite end from Graig. As much as the 'opposite end' is meaningful when she's longer than even _this_ bath if she stretches. It's less than a minute later when the slapping of small feet on the tile echoes through the room, followed by a "Waa!-_"*-sploosh* Reaching out an arm, I fish Adella out of the water next to me and hold her upright, glancing over my shoulder to find Marcella watching with a slightly appalled expression.

"Careful baby!" Our daughter just splutters at the admonition, clearing the water from her mouth before giggling.

"Dada!" Squirming around, she throws her arms around my neck from the side and pulls ineffectually. But I let her have what she wants anyway, turning toward her and planting a kiss on the top of her head. Then I give her something she _doesn't_ want when I grab the soap and start scrubbing. "Noooo!" Flickers of warp light flood the room as she struggles, her headband not required in the bath, but for the same reason she's allowed to go without it here, it's also not helpful for her to open it.

" _That_ she gets from you."

"Oh shut- Err" I stop myself from issuing it as an order, Graig stiffening momentarily as I do. "It'd be nice to be able to participate in verbal sparring like that _without_ accidentally issuing orders."

"It does take half the fun out of it."

Another set of footsteps across the tile heralds Marcella's arrival, and as she joins us in the pool her hair fills most of the portion not already taken by Graig, a great cloud of brilliant fiery red floating in the water. Adella can't resist playing with it, and I take advantage of the distraction to finish scrubbing before joining her in that.

"Having fun?"

"You have _amazing_ hair… So how is Silvea?" The latter is directed to Graig.

"Sleeping. Elodia has Caleb for the moment."

"Thank the Emperor for her"

"Indeed."

 **Segmentum Obscurus**  
**Calixis Sector**  
**Golgenna Reach**  
**The Lathes**  
**Heavy Transport - Writ of Surplus**  
**7.786.738M41**

"#########################" The long binaric screech makes everyone in the hangar other than Eta cringe, and her return greeting isn't any better. It's probably a breach of decorum when Logis Iota-623 breaks ranks with their party to divert toward my lovely genetor. If not, the way they're torturing everyone's squishy biological ears definitely is.

Wiggling a finger in my insulted ear canal, I speak up. "Eta, why don't the two of you catch up somewhere else?"

"Sorry ##Tristain." That somehow prompts _another_ extended screech from Iota, before Eta facepalms with a mechadendrite and turns toward one of the doors lining the sides of the cargo bay. Iota follows, along with a pair of acolytes and a couple dozen servo-skulls that swarm out of the shuttle behind… them? The swarm congregates around me and starts apparently trying to guide me along, but I simply clear my throat meaningfully, and give the pair a _look_.

"###Apologies, please accompany us."

"Only if you promise to keep the volume down. My ears are still meat."

"I take it they know each other?" I hear the captain ask wryly as I follow Iota and Eta. Factorum Acquisitionist Rho-27 is here to inspect the Nephium we've brought, I think? I'm just here as a reference for Eta's report.

"Indeed##. Creche mates long ago I believe. Her report regarding the archeotech finding has caused quite a stir. Iota's claim to possess a pre-alteration personality baseline earned her the right of first interview. I do hope you can stay long enough for a proper investigation."

"Time is money-" I don't make out the rest due to distance at that point, but I get the impression she's going to make the Mechanicus pay her to keep the ship here. Fine in principle, might get annoying if they're willing to pay for long enough.

Once the small party is out of ear-splitting range of the Captain's burgeoning negotiation, the binaric starts up again, though at a mercifully reduced volume. A few seconds later there's a scandalized gasp from one of the acolytes that tells me a great deal about what's being discussed, and when I glance over I find her blush visible around the few augmentics she already has. Looking to the other side, the other acolyte is grinning and gives me a thumbs up. I grin back and raise my eyebrows a couple times, acknowledging the non-verbal " _nice_ "

The rooms near the landing bay are _intended_ for long negotiations, but of course the comfortable seating was counter to Valorus's intent so we couldn't use them then. That's not a problem now. Sinking into one of the seats, Eta taking the one next to me while continuing the conversation I can't understand a word of, I lean back into the thick padding and take a moment to appreciate the fine leather. "If this whole thing is in Binaric, I'm not going to be able to contribute much."

"We'll see." Eta gives me an aside, before returning to the rapid-fire binary cant, the high-bandwidth audible data stream apparently the best choice for the current topic. Given how long it takes, she might have a point there.

With a loud clacking of latches releasing, Eta's left arm abruptly falls away from her shoulder much to my startlement, and she pulls it from her sleeve to set it on the table. Iota's mechadendrites swarm around it, plugging into ports that open up after a bit of prodding. Their expression is unreadable with a face made of metal plating, but I somehow get the impression of a jaw slowly dropping.

"That's impossible." Mr. Acolyte speaks up, staring in disbelief. " _That_ started as an Idumea pattern limb?"

"###!" Despite not understanding a word, that had the distinct sound of a reprimand.

"Sorry."

Eventually Eta pulls out several of the collars I gave her for testing, and the female acolyte who blushed so well before lets out something halfway between a sputter and a squeak, snatching one from Eta's mechadendrite and attempting a speed record in putting one of the things on while approximately half the servo-skulls extend cables to hook into various ports previously concealed beneath her robes. Prayers pour from her lips as the collar sets to work, thanking the Omnissiah for the chance to experience this ancient device and requesting the right frame of mind for greatest insight.

Her fasteners don't exactly survive all the cables snaking their way inside her robes to attach themselves, and I'm treated to her robes falling open to expose a patchwork of skin and segmented metal. She's not exactly the most conventionally attractive at the moment, but I'm sure that'll change over the next few weeks, at least if the preview in the collar's menu is anything to go by. Her hair is apparently sticking around, guess she doesn't have any of those tiny mechadendrites like the ones on Eta's head now.

"Eager aren't you? She explain about the emotional effects?" The rapid nod is confirmed by the nuclear blush. "Bit emotional for a tech priest?"

"No rite of pure thought as yet. That's one of the tests Master Iota wants to run." She explains, letting her eyes wander over me a bit while her cheeks burn. "...You look exactly the same, but _that_ looks better now." She admits, glancing over at Iota and getting a screeching "######" in return. "If he asked."

"##############"

"She's-" She blinks a few times, then stares at Eta, her receding blush reversing course. "That's confirmed!? I don't know how I-"

 **"####!"** Nu-87, according to the collar interface, freezes at the harsh blat, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath, then letting it out slowly before taking another, and another.

"I apologize master. That was... Unbecoming."

"#####" The male acolyte, whose name I still haven't caught, stands up, bows cordially, and steps out of the room, presumably at Iota's instruction. "Please, demonstrate the conferred warp immunity."

 **"What!? AAAAHHH** HHHHhhhhhhhhhh" The scream of terror trails off into a wondering expression as she waves her hand before her face, marveling at the way the eldritch realm flickers and shifts around her fingers. I can still overcome the protection if I want to, but since I don't she's unharmed aside from having a bit of a fright.

One of the servo-skulls is _less_ fortunate, and falls from the air in a shower of sparks, horrid growths beginning to form along the fontanelles. _Sigh_. Drawing my sidearm, I look for the fateful point, and- Do nothing because it's already been obliterated by Iota's grav-pistol.

"Sorry about that."

"The data is safe, that skull was expendable."

Once Nu's heartrate drops from the mid two-hundreds, she returns to her seat at the table with a nervous laugh, and eyes that wander over me some more. "Why did that make you more attractive?"

"That sounds like a you-thing not a me-thing. I have no idea why."

"Power exercised with skill is a strong factor in mate selection." Eta points out. "I cannot recommend carrying his child as a non-navigator. The collar would allow you to survive the experience, but there is no data, that I know of, regarding the development of a warp-eye in a pure-human mother... Not beyond week sixteen."

"##############"

"##Tristain will never agree to that."

"########"

"Solana ### _might_ , yes."

She turns to me, but I speak up before she can explain. "I think I can figure out what Iota just asked from context." Giving the Logis a hard look, I point out "You do realize that only Genetors sworn to House Cassini would be permitted access to my children regardless. _IF_ I agreed in the first place, she would have to be brought beneath our banner." The scenario doesn't help Nu's blush, or rather it does, it _helps her blush_.

"##Irritating. The loss of an apprentice would be ###worthwhile, but not to ##fail in acquiring the data." There's a brief pause, then "A ##variance for a ##variance? The machine tithe to maintain your cadre of genetors-"

"Is _definitely_ above my station, and likely to remain so for the next century. I'd be surprised if it were in your remit either." A questioning glance at Eta gets a slight shake of her head. "Indeed."

"I know the mind of the Fabricator-General of The Lathes. He too searches for knowledge. But if you cannot negotiate such terms, there is no gain in making the effort."

"My available trade goods are immensely valuable-" I tap my pendant. "But limited in variety. The question then is what can you offer of similar value? The lathes have already been given three for testing purposes-" I nod to the two on the table, then to Nu-87 "-to verify they are what we think they are. But just three isn't enough is it?" Leaning forward, I grin openly. "Given the peak-human condition produced by the collars, I'd wager you could simply _create_ princeps candidates. And immune to the Warp too, or at least some degree of exposure."

"If the throne mechanicum is exposed to the warp, that ###God-Machine has #### _substantially_ greater problems. That is also irrelevant as the ##devices will require many years of testing before being trusted to ###that degree."

"I-"

"##Skitarii Rangers are of more immediate ##interest. To both of us. I will release a full squad to you in exchange for equipping one of mine."

"Skitarii are far more common than these collars Logis, and you fully expect me to be equipping the ones I'm given. No, if you want enough collars for a squad… Hmm..."

"Fully equipped with ###Grav-forged armor and weaponry." Ok, now _that's_ an interesting offer. That alloy can stand up to power weapons… according to rumor at least, I've never actually _seen_ any of the stuff.

I raise an eyebrow. "You have my attention."

* * *

Flopping into one of the seats in Eta's office, I lean back and close my eyes. Moments later there's a gentle kneading from points all along from my temples down the sides of my neck, with more mechadendrites snaking their way between me and the chair to extend the sensation. "You earned Iota's respect."

"Oh, good. MMMmmmm… It will be interesting to see how Skitarii react to the collars, for both us and Iota I expect."

"They have self-repair systems, so I expect ##enhancements like mine. The mental conditioning is of greater interest, very little of the original remains, but it isn't known whether it's gone or merely suppressed."

"We'll find out soon enough."

"I also negotiated a ###surprise for you while delivering my report."

"Oh? What is the nature of this surprise?" I ask with a slight grin, still leaning into her massage.

"A ###surprise."

"How mysterious." My grin is undampened. Eta has my trust, so I'm sure whatever it is will be worthwhile. In the meantime I haven't missed the fact that her mechadendrites have been scooting me forward in the seat until I'm perched on the edge. Her hands on my knees pressing them apart simply continue the overture, and I let her have her way, helping by undoing my trousers as she kneels between my feet. It's been a few days since she's had my attention, and she's definitely eager.

Opening my eyes to appreciate the sight, I find her metallic visage smiling up at me from behind my cock, lips opened in a shining O before she simply breathes out, the warm air wafting across my shaft and making me twitch. "Tease." She chuckles at the accusation, and her silvery tongue extends to slither up my shaft from the base, slick and warm… and a little tingly with what can only be electricity "Oh." More sexy chuckling, and then she rises up on her knees for a better angle before simply swallowing me whole. She hasn't had the 'only gag if you want to' command, but apparently that doesn't mat _TER!?!!!_

"HMMMMMMMMMMM-" Having her throat stretched wide does absolutely nothing to impair her voice, and she takes full advantage. My fingers clutch at the arms of the chair, only to be pried away by her hair and moved to the top of her head. I barely notice the shift, merely grabbing tight and running on instinct to pull her closer, hips rocking as much as I can with her throat suctioning down around me. Her metallic esophagus is also rippling along with the humming, and it only takes a short eternity to draw me over the edge.

"GUH!" Elegant it isn't. My eyes roll back and I try to wrap my legs around her to pull her even closer, despite already being fully hilted in her throat. More of her fine detail mechadendrites wrap around my balls as they pull up, gently stroking my sack and vibrating there too. As the pleasure washes over me I'm distantly aware of some odd noises, but I have _far_ more important things to pay attention to.

She leaves me panting, flopped back in the chair again, as she stands up and leans over to give me a kiss. Despite what she was just doing, everything went right down her throat so there's nothing left to taste. Just the slight metallic tinge of her metallic _face_ as usual. "...You're missing a play order aren't you?" The question occurs to me and so I whisper it into her ear, following up by fixing the problem. "Play order, orgasm whenever my seed enters your body. Also, since you missed that one, cum now." Her arms around me tighten and her body shudders slightly. Watching her face closely, I can see the clusters of optics in her eyes widening their dozens of tiny irises as it rolls over her with a throaty moan.

"How ###considerate of you." The slow smile following the words is absolutely beautiful.

* * *

**Segmentum Obscurus**  
**Calixis Sector**  
**Golgenna Reach**  
**The Lathes**  
**Heavy Transport - Writ of Surplus**  
**7.802.738M41**

"All crew be advised. Atmosphere in bays one through twelve is being evacuated. Repeat, bays one through twelve being evacuated. Current atmosphere in bays one through twelve, nine-hundred and falling. Six hours to hard vacuum, suits required in T-minus two hours."

The business end of even a destroyer-scale lance weapon is a bit large to fit through the usual cargo loading doors. A bit large to even fit in a single bay as it turns out, so an entire section of the ship is getting ready to open to vacuum. The Writ is designed for this, but it's still a major undertaking to open up all the baffles and swing open the outer plating. Something like a million bolts need undoing along the way, the job one for a thousand deckhands.

"Loud." Adella complains after the PA announcement, even in the Navigator's quarters that system still issues its warnings. Trying to turn it off makes the Writ grumpy, so I gave up a few hours ago.

"Yeah, but it's all-loud to be." I tell her, holding the coloring book still so it doesn't move around while she smears wax vaguely across the figures of small fuzzy animals. Her enthusiastic motions nearly knock her off my lap repeatedly, so my other hand is occupied holding her in place. Across the table 'Cella groans at the pun, rolling her eyes expressively.

"Teaching her puns?"

"Punning requires a certain grasp of the language. It's good for her."

"What about the people around her?"

"It's good for them too." I insist, bending down to kiss the top of my daughter's head. "Whether they like it or not." Adella leans her head back to look up at me, and so I kiss her forehead too. Or at least her headband since she's still not at the stage of keeping her Eye shut when she should. She giggles and returns to her coloring, happily leaving wild scribbles with no regards to the lines. That will come later, once she has the dexterity for it. A deft hand with the visual arts is absolutely a mandatory part of our life, but for now there's no need for accuracy since she's not making any charts. "So what are you drawing now?" I ask cheerfully, since she's managed to turn the page while I was smirking at her mother.

"Ogy!"

"Ooh, a doggy?" She nods her head wildly, her still-short wavy hair flailing around her and tangling hopelessly. She's going to complain about pulling when it's time to brush it again later. Looking over her 'work' I'm pretty sure war dogs, even as puppies, don't come in bright green… Well, unless a toddler with green markers is in the area anyway. I remember a story, though not which life it's from, of a dalmatian being used for connect-the-dots.

The peace doesn't last, less than half an hour before there's another disturbance. From the other side of a door I can hear Caleb starting to wail about something and the thumping of cabinets being rummaged through. Silvea hasn't had to deal with _small_ children in a long time, and she's still re-learning how she organized things back then. Elodia being on duty in the choir chamber means she can't cheat either. "Your brother's pretty loud too huh?"

"Uh huh!"

"Come on, lets go somewhere quieter and I'll read to you okay?"

"Kay!" She manages to twist around as I stand up, so she can put her arms around my neck and kiss my cheek "Mwah!"

"Awww, thank you!" Behind her I can see Marcella making a winding motion with her extended pinky, and I just grin and shrug before turning to head back to our room, abandoning the dining room. Once there I let Adella claim a spot on top of me after pulling out the slate with the children's edition of the collected memoirs of Ciaphas Cain, **HERO OF THE IMPERIUM!!!** I'm sure he'd be appalled, or possibly is appalled, by the way he's officially portrayed.

"You know, it's too bad we couldn't get Vail instead of Valorus."

"Mean."

"Yes he is." Opening the file to where we left off, there's a rather trite and dumbed-down inspirational speech about courage and fortitude. Of course, I know full well the man's opinion on bravery vs. staying alive, but I can't get away with teaching Adella _that_ version of his story just yet. However, I _can_ teach her that as a Navigator _she_ needs to stay safe or the whole ship's in danger.

Not that she understands any of it yet, not really. She's just enjoying my terrible voice acting.

* * *

**Segmentum Obscurus**  
**Calixis Sector**  
**Golgenna Reach**  
**The Lathes**  
**Heavy Transport - Writ of Surplus**  
**7.814.738M41**

Iota's personal shuttle has been swapped out for a troop transport this time, but still handled with utmost precision as they come in for a landing. "Iota isn't ##nearly that smooth a pilot in high## stress situations." Eta shares conspiratorially, and Marcella giggles a little.

"Then why do the piloting themselves?"

"Logis." She answers, as though that explains everything.

"So?"

"Specialized in data analysis and prophetic### algorithms. Leaving details to chance is irritating."

"Surprised the predictions don't cover pilot performance."

"They can, but the ##error bars get wider with ##every moving part." She looks over at me before returning her attention to the now ticking shuttle, thermal contraction in the engine bells sharply echoing in the cavernous room. "My ###expertise is elsewhere."

There's a loud clack as the latches around the boarding ramp release, sharply springing open just before the hydraulics begin lowering it to the deck. At the top of the ramp stands Iota, returned with their promised Skitarii behind them and a crate held by their apprentices. Nu-87 and Epsilon-87 apparently, because the Mechanicus doesn't care if it's confusing for people without implanted cogitators of one form or another.

The formation of Skitarii march down the ramp behind the Logis, feet pounding the metal in perfect time, effectively identical to my eyes, and with rather large packs on their backs in addition to the wargear they're already wearing. At a gesture from Iota they wheel to one side and arrange themselves for inspection as I walk up to meet our guests both temporary and permanent. Nu blushes deeply as I approach, closing on two weeks since her collaring and she's probably gagging for it, but without other collared around wherever Iota's stationed she has to be parched.

When I smile and nod to her master, I catch her giving me a dreamy look before catching herself and schooling her expression. The blush stays though, and I can almost feel 'Cella's opinion of the matter. She looks tasty, but not on the menu right now. "Iota" I greet. "I see you brought them."

"And you?" I merely hold out the small box I've been holding, inside the collars are laid out on black velvet as though they were fancy jewelry. Iota opens the lid and allows one of her ever-present skulls to scan the contents, before nodding and shutting the lid. A "####" blat of binaric and the apprentices open the crate they're holding, which is revealed to be both thick-walled and empty save for the complex circuitry in the walls. I recognize it as a stasis cask, presumably less to protect anyone from the contents in this case, and more to render them utterly inviolable. I guess they don't screw around with things they regard as valuable.

Placing the box in the cask, Iota turns to the troops and speaks up "##################################### ****##################################### ****##################################### ****##################################### ****##################################### ****#####################################" I cover my ears as what can only be a long string of orders is spat out with an ear-blasting pitch.

When it's over however, one of the Skitarii, a Skitarus? Skitarius? One of those two I think. Steps forward and speaks up in High Gothic. "Skitarii squad Lathe-Gemma-Twelve-Seventeen, command transferred. Orders Navigator?"

"Fall in." I nod my head to the side, and watch as they quick-step over to a mirror of their former position.

"Our ###business is ##concluded. ###################################"

"#############################" Eta holds up a hand to shield me from her own voice, and the apprentices shortly return down the ramp with another crate. This one they leave closed, and I get a sense of immense smugness from Eta when they set it on the deck before her. "May your research be productive and your predictions accurate, as it pleases the Omnissiah."

"##########################################" Iota nods and returns to the transport, boots stomping up the ramp under the weight of all that metal.

"Two of you, grab that. All of you, come with us." They have an appointment with a double handful of chokers, and whatever's in the box is presumably Eta's surprise.

Ligia and Edith fall in as we pass the door, jostling with the Skitarii for a brief moment before the Mechanicus soldiers shift formation as a single unit, adjusting to allow them their places at my flanks. Ligia's expression says very eloquently what she's tactfully holding in, but I just tell her "I know, but there's information you're missing." She's a soldier, not a merchant, and while I'm not exactly a merchant either, I know enough to bargain hard when you want to drive up the demand for something scarce. You make it a status symbol, something the haves have to have… A _Veblen_ good if I'm remembering the term from another life correctly, something where price increases demand.

"There always is Sir." I'm pretty sure she also hasn't actually pictured the Skitarii wearing collars, or she'd be a lot happier to have them around. Marcella is certainly looking forward to seeing how they turn out, and given Eta I don't blame her.

Speaking of whom, the general level of smug I'm detecting from Eta continues rising as we make our way to her medicae. I can't quite point to anything in particular, maybe just the way she's holding herself? But it's definitely there. Whatever's in the 'surprise' box must be pretty good to get her in a mood like this.  
...  
...

"Put the crate up here." When the Skitarii carrying the box comply, her mechadendrites immediately spring into action, unbolting the side in a few seconds while her body blocks my view… Though to be fair, _that's_ a pretty nice view too. After a few moments undoing more latches inside she outright _laughs_ and turns around, a large sterilization canister held in both hands and several mechadendrites. "These## are for you! The ##True ##Flesh is denied of course, I made no requests for ####it, but I was able to get approval for ###autosanguine systems. There are ##more, but this is the important one, this one keeps you### alive!" Her smile is brilliant and serene and smug all rolled into one, and I have to admit.

"Wow, that's a really good surprise." Looking around us, I add "We should probably get the collars working on this lot first… How long will it take?"

"Approximately six hours."

"Ok, did you get one for Marcella too?"

"No, and no I cannot use this### one on ##her. Not without burning ##bridges best left unburnt####."

"What did it cost?" It sounds like whatever deals she made might be important to know about.

"Pattern naming rights… I was going to name the new augmentic patterns after you ###Tristain."

"It would have been nice, but if you think you got a good deal it's fine." Glancing at the large canister again, I take a couple steps forward, twisting to the side so I end up just behind her shoulder and lean down to kiss the side of her neck. "If you have a chance to get more for 'Cella and 'della…"

"Of course!###" Her voice is a little wobbly, her neck arching to invite more of my touch. Even when I pull back she holds the pose for a few moments before relaxing again. "Yes, Good. I'm going to prep the surgery." With that she heads farther into her demense, leaving me with Marcella, two of my usual guards, and ten Skitarii.

"How much have you been briefed on?"

"A potentially holy relic has selected you as its bearer, making you a high value target. Subsidiary relics issued to us in your service are likely to cause mental contamination, necessitating erasure of certain intel. Physical changes are expected, with a high likelihood of increased combat potential. Feminine traits superfluous but acceptable." With no line of sight to any of their lips, I can't say for _certain_ which of them spoke, but I'm assuming it's the apparent leader… Meaning the one with a different pommel on their sword since that's the only demarcation I can see. I assume things look different to their augmentic eyes.

"...Interesting phrasing. Are you all male then?"

"The flesh is weak."

"That's not what I asked."

That actually gives them a bit of pause. "...We would need to consult records."

Uh, _yikes_. "You can't just check your own body? Wait, no, don't answer that. Just…" At least I came prepared to issue the collars, so even though my own discombobulation I can at least just resort to handing them out. "Here, put them on. The changes will probably take a while, Eta took several weeks before they finished. Ask her about where to find the nutritional supplements you'll need for the reconstruction."

"We brought our own. We were told her report recommended them." As the leader dons the collar, I check the predicted outcome in the interface. Eta's script flickers through the loooong list of sliders, but I'm definitely going to be making some manual changes. The 'Set target to current' function isn't quite what I was looking for.

I can only take it so far, their Grav-forged armor limits how far I can change their torsos, the armor on their arms and legs is part of the augmentic limbs, so there's more freedom there, but anything larger than an A cup isn't going to fit under their breastplates. There's no way I'm asking them to ditch armor that can stand up to power weapons though, so I just make up for it with sensor density for their new whoever-pattern metallic synth-skin. Lithe but responsive… That description could apply to Marcella too, though she's chestier than they will be, and shorter, a lot shorter.

Copying the settings from one to the next I leave to Eta's script, while I go change into one of those _horribly_ undignified patient robes. The ones with your ass in the breeze. Some things haven't changed in thirty eight thousand years I guess.

* * *

**Segmentum Obscurus**   
**Calixis Sector**   
**Golgenna Reach**   
**The Lathes**   
**Heavy Transport - Writ of Surplus**   
**7.815.738M41**

"...Hnnnggg" It's a rather groggy greeting to the world, coming from six hours under the knife it takes a moment for the haze to clear even with the collar assisting me. "'Cella? Eta?"

"Dada!" "I'm here." Turning my head carefully, mindful of the gradually fading pounding, I catch sight of two heads of red hair, one flaming copper, the other already darkening toward an auburn.

"Hey." Reaching out, I poke Adella's nose to hear her giggle, then when Marcella leans down closer I poke her nose too. Our daughter just stares at that for a moment, then laughs uproariously. She's still giggling when the door opens and Eta steps in, apparently having gone to clean up or something, because there's not a hint she just performed a six hour surgery. "Well chiurgeon?"

"##Success." One of her mechadendrites reaches out and snakes around the back of my neck to find the connector there. There's the usual echoing clacking of metal on metal embedded in my skull, and then suddenly I just _know_ the current condition of my body in ways I'd never imagined.

"Woah!" There's a control practically screaming in my head that injuries are detected but the system cannot help in standby. It takes a moment to figure out how to actually activate it, but once I do I can feel the surgical incisions closing in fast-forward. My nerves only seem to be reporting cessation of pain, but that extra awareness of my condition is more informative. It's… It's… "Is there a _word_ for this extra sense?"

"Yes, it's ###" Shooting her a mildly irritated glare, I find her smiling at me.

"Thank you, that's very helpful when I don't have the ears or throat to pronounce that." My tone is very dry, as much as I appreciate her snark, I'm kind of sore all over at the moment even if that's fading fast.

"The closest single-channel translation is Propriodiagnostics." Moving to stand next to Marcella's chair, Eta leans down to give me a kiss, then gives Marcella one as well.

We haven't been hiding the nature of our relationships from her, so her only reaction is to raise her arms with an "Up! Up!" Her demands are met by a quartet of mechadendrites plucking her out of Marcella's lap and flying her around the ceiling while my little girl squeals with glee.

"You spoil her." The accusation earns me a wry look, as though there were something ironic about saying that. Marcella makes that winding gesture around her fingers again too. "Bah, no respect." Shoving aside the thin sheet covering me, I throw my legs to the side and sit up, feeling much better now than when I woke up.

"All my throne interfaces are tingling… Or something, that's not quite the right word."

"They're being upgraded, eat this." The Mechanicus nutrition bar she hands me doesn't look very appetizing, but I gamely take a bite, before choking and recoiling.

"It's like rusty chalk." I sputter, still trying to choke it down.

"You will become ###accustomed to it."

"Really?"

"No. I still ###deactivate my tongue."

"That's not fair." Taking another bite, I pull a face and try to work some moisture into my mouth as the chalky powder crumbles. The metallic flavors and bone-dry texture might be chock full of everything nanites need, but my fleshy mouth is _not_ happy about it. "Throne's Plumbing this stuff is nasty."

"Trist!" Marcella's pointed glance at Adella, still squealing in midair, scolds me for cussing in front of her.

"Sorry." As I choke down bite after bite, I can feel the autosanguine system reporting increased storage. I think it was pretty full before, so this is just a top-up for what it's already used. As the last bite disappears, I toss the wrapper and stand up, feeling much better, if slightly heavier, than when I came in. "Thank you very much for arranging this Eta, even if your idea of food could use some work." As Marcella reclaims our daughter from her 'flight', I lean in to whisper in Eta's ear, my lips obscured from any potential watchers by her hood. "Experience linearly increasing arousal from now until you next sleep, reaching your peak just before lying down in your bed." Her hair shivers at that command, and I grin irrepressibly on my way out the door with my family.  
...  
...

Once we're safely back in our de-bugged quarters, Marcella's facade is discarded and she giggles. "What did you tell her?" With an enormous grin, I lean in and whisper the same command in her ear, then pull back to look at her expression. "You are _terrible_."

"The worst part? By that wording you can't even try to _accelerate_ the process." Her eyes get even wider, and she bites her lip, tempting me to nibble on it too. "Enjoy the rest of the evening my love."

"One day I will figure out how to do this to you too."

"I'm sure you will. In the meantime, make sure you maintain your composure in front of little eyes."

As the evening wears on, I have a great deal of fun watching her eroding facade, her eyes dilating, her breathing growing deeper, a light blush creeping down her neck and then growing deeper. Eventually she hands Adella off to Elodia and veritably _tackles_ me once young eyes lose line of sight. "How eager of you." The words are a bit muffled by her lips on mine, and my laughter doesn't help, but she understands them anyway. "It's still a couple hours before bed, and we have dinner in a few minutes."

Despite my words, I'm thoroughly enjoying her excitement, the way her lithe form is so eagerly responsive to my touch at this point. "Just think, Eta's in the same situation. So needy, but unable to take care of it, with or without help." Digging my fingers in 'Cella's flaming mane, I pull her head to the side a little so I can nibble on the side of her neck, drawing a gasp from her lips and making her shudder against me in an interruption of the grinding she was doing.

"You… will pay for this. Hnnnnf"

"Gladly." My chuckling doesn't help I'm sure. " _After_ dinner."

* * *

"Are you well dear?" The teasing tone leaves no doubt Silvea has already figured out what's wrong with Marcella as we sit down to dinner. She may not have the details, but the way my lovely wife is threatening to combust and poke holes in her blouse at the same time is difficult to miss.

"Yes!" It's a little more vehement than strictly polite, and I grin across the table at her, garnering a heated glare that's rather spoiled by how dilated her eyes are, deep pools of black rimmed with brilliant green, and around her head a few strands of flaming hair escaped from her braid are providing their own halo as an accent.

"Beautiful." I breathe, and watch her blush a little deeper and bite her lip with a smile that breaks the glare. Sometimes it's the little things that make the big things even better, and sometimes just telling the truth is one of them. I spend a little time simply staring at her intensely, letting my eyes wander a bit before returning to hers. Then dinner is served and I turn my attention to my appetizer. "...What is this?" Curiously, I scoop up one of the odd looking spheres, not quite caviar but that's the closest thing I can think of. A sniff confirms it smells like some variety of mushroom.

"Local delicacy, they don't keep in the Warp." Graig takes a bite and simply moans, the sound rather more sensual now that she's, well, _she_. Following suit, I discover the things actually do warrant the sound, like the truffles of old Terra as prepared by a molecular gastronomist or something. Marcella's voice joins the chorus of gustatory enjoyment, and I look up again to watch her expression. Good as they are, the strange mushrooms don't hold my attention as well as she does.

As the meal goes on, she keeps catching me staring at her, while her several-hour countdown to climax continues inexorably on. Sometimes she blushes, sometimes she smiles, sometimes she rolls her eyes. Even that last is worth watching, even if, or maybe _particularly_ if it slows down my eating, dragging out her delightful torment. The laughter from our aunt and… _other aunt_ , definitely isn't helping her very much, but somehow it doesn't bother me this time. Eventually the meal is over, but more because my wife's hand on my shirt collar is dragging me toward the bedroom while she growls to the accompaniment of laughter. "What's the hurry?"

Once we're alone she turns and jumps on me, arms going around my neck and legs around my waist, her skirt barely slowing her down as she grabs on to give me one _hell_ of a kiss. Her lips may as well be on fire, needy and desperate while also soft and luscious. I wrap my arms around her to support her weight, squeezing her butt a few times just because I can. She shivers in my arms and her hips grind against me eagerly, but there's about five too many layers of cloth between us right now.

Stumbling toward the bed and trying to undress at the same time is an exercise in falling over as it turns out, but with no witnesses it's just a laughing matter as we practically tear each other's clothes off before I simply take her on the floor next to the bed. She's sopping wet, her lips red and swollen with arousal. Then I can't see them anymore because I've slammed home to her cry of ecstasy, her legs clamping around my butt to hold me inside while her fingernails tear at my back.

It's just as well I didn't have a rhythm yet, because feeling the autosanguine system kicking in again is still _weird_ , and it makes me pause for a few seconds, much to Marcella's dismay. Her hands scrabble at my back even harder, the added scratches bringing my attention back to her before she resorts to biting. Not that she won't later _anyway_ , when hours of teasing finally cums to an end. I have to pry her legs off, simply forcing them up by her head, to give myself room to thrust, but then she's arching her back and whining loudly with every deep thrust. She's still a perfect fit, and I for her, something we'll always share only with each other. Slick velvet ripples around me as her eyes roll back, the pleasure pouring over both of us but her unable to climb any higher for the moment, the command from earlier holding her to that steady increase.

It takes a couple minutes for her to realize something's wrong, all the pleasure disguising how she's still held back from the edge. "What was..." Something about being able to keep her from thinking clearly is just so _fun_ , twisting my hips and changing the angle every time she tries to concentrate on exactly what the wording was that's causing her problems. Finally though, "Bed, _NOW!_ " One of her hands tangles in my hair to make her point, not able to focus a glare on me at the moment.

"As you wish." Laughing, I push off the floor and manage to climb to my knees. When I let go of her ankles she kicked me in the butt twice latching on, and so all I need to do is fall sideways again, rolling a little to put her on top this time as she squeals, already tipping over the edge as we fall over. Her release is a thing of _beauty_ when it hits, eyes rolling back and even her Warp Eye cracking open a sliver as she loses control. Inside her churning muscles give me no chance to hold back, and I find myself joining her pleasure, tingling and goosebumps making their way out to my fingers and toes as I leave jet after jet of seed right at her inner gates. Her spasms deep within almost feel like she's nibbling on my tip, 'dipping' or whatever Eta called it. It feels _amazing_ every time whatever it's called.

As my own climax passes, hers is still going strong, still building and building somehow until it's finally too much and she collapses atop me after another minute, already snoring. "Uh… Wow." Rolling her to the side, I get up and go fetch a washcloth to clean her up a little, then drag her under the covers with me to sleep. "I wonder how Eta made out?"


	6. Gathering

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you hadn't noticed that I've been adding to previous chapters a little bit at a time, you might find that you're missing something by starting here. Go back and catch up first. :)
> 
> Yes, I know it's weird to keep adding to a chapter instead of posting another chapter, but given the format of the site it fits better to do it this way IMO. This chapter will be getting the same treatment, fair warning.  
> 1st section  
> 2nd section  
> 3rd section  
> 4th section  
> 5th section  
> 6th section  
> 7th section  
> 8th section  
> 9th section  
> 10th section  
> 11th section  
> 12th section  
> 13th section  
> 14th section  
> 15th section  
> 16th section  
> 17th section  
> 18th section  
> 19th section  
> 

**Segmentum Obscurus**  
**Calixis Sector**  
**Golgenna Reach**  
**The Warp**  
**Heavy Transport - Writ of Surplus**  
**9.844.738M41**

"Skitarii, report." The lot of them are still definitely partway through their transformations. The self-maintenance systems they had to begin with were good, but not to the same level Eta had, or the one she gave me. They're catching up though.

"Milord!" They all spring to their feet from where they were performing various tasks, but it's still only one of them who actually speaks. I've never heard- Well, I might have heard the others speak, but never more than one at a time. "Progress of system alterations remains steady. Since last report; joint flexibility increased one point seven percent; myomer strength increased three percent, plus minus zero point zero two percent across the squad; optical acuity increased four percent; energy storage increased one percent; nerve conduction increased two percent; auditory-"

It sounds a lot like the report from two days ago, though the actual numbers are decreasing as they asymptotically approach 'perfect' condition. "Good, sounds like things are going well. I've been wondering, why does only one of you talk?"

"When reporting to a superior, regulation dictates the chain of command is observed in the transfer of data. As alpha of squad Lathe-Gemma-Twelve-Seventeen, my squad reports to me, and I report to you." I start to open my mouth again, but she anticipates the question. "Their reports are delivered through data-tether for security and reduced audibles Milord. Time-critical information may be communicated directly."

"Ah, I see. Practical in the chaos of battle, but I am well aware of the side effects from the blessed collars you've been given. While not on active duty you may speak to me directly."

There's a brief pause, and then "We are always on duty Milord."

"I specified 'active' for a reason Skitaria. And have you chosen names yet?"

"Understood. We were not instructed to select names, only granted permission, Milord."

"I am aware." I smile. "If you choose to select names, please inform me of them." _And then maybe I can stop picturing Jerri Ryan under Seven's armor._

"Yes Milord."

"Do you have an estimate before your faces will be visible?"

"Twenty fractions by Eta-623's estimation."

"Excellent." On impulse I reach out to hug the still-rigid form. As her body reshapes, she's getting a little softer, but it's a slow process. Her _reaction_ to the hug though, _that's_ oddly adorable for such a mechanical girl. She goes completely still for several seconds before relaxing just a little, but enough for me to feel. "If any of the rest of you want one, step forward." Unsurprisingly, they all do. The collars have had enough time to make sure of that. It's just too bad they can't blush.

* * *

**Segmentum Obscurus**   
**Calixis Sector**   
**Malfean Sub-Sector**   
**The Warp**   
**Heavy Transport - Writ of Surplus**   
**9.852.738M41**

The path directly from The Lathes to Port Wander is one to avoid. The Fydae systems are and have been pirate infested for at least two hundred years. The chances of Aspyce having contacts there are far too high to come anywhere near them. It only adds a few days though, so it's no great hardship.

Ahead in the far distance I know the Vortex and the Roil are waiting, hidden for now by the more localized clouds. But simply knowing they're ahead is reason enough to take extra joy in a calm sea for the moment. That and the tiny hands grabbing my leg. She's content to stand there and cheer whenever her mommy smears a warp predator across the gellar field. It may not make an actual dent in the total number of the things in the Empyrean, but some battles are worth fighting no matter how endless.

The sound of scales slithering up the stairs heralds Graig's arrival, little Caleb cradled in her arms. The light of the Warp is just as necessary for our Eye as full-spectrum light is for baseline humanity, so she's been bringing him up well before the start of her shift. Much like 'Cella and I did with Adella. "Unca! Caeby!" I deny any allegations that her name for her half-brother makes me snicker. Somewhere between 'Caleb' and 'Baby', and very adorable. As Graig coils up into a pile next to the Navigator's Throne, she lets go of my leg and takes a tottering step before falling facefirst onto a thick scaled coil and starting to clamber over it.

"Oh the heartbreak! Abandoned by my daughter for a boy!"

"Your daddy is being silly." The melodrama doesn't get far with Graig, but Adella giggles so it's all good. "What's your mommy doing?"

"Smass cawy"

"Smashing scary things?" With my eyes on the Warp around us, I can't see her response, which seems to be non-verbal. "Is she doing a good job?"... "Oh, good."

"I'm going to miss this when we hit the passage."

"A familiar sentiment." Graig laughs, then sighs. "You used to try to 'help' with the pest control. You weren't very good at it at first."

"Imagine that."  
...  
...

"So, given how much time Adella and Caleb have taken up recently, how much are you betting I've backslid?" I give Jezmine a wink as I'm setting up, trying for a blush, or a bitten lip, or a distant look. Any of the above really. Pressing her thighs together works too, and as I turn to start firing I can hear Lucy teasing her. The aftermath is going to be fun either way, though I'm hoping to make her lose that bet.

Taking a deep breath and letting it out, sighting down the range and opening my Eye, I seek out the futures where the target lies in pieces, shattered on the floor after a single shot. It comes to me as easily as ever, but I take a few extra seconds just to make sure after having skipped a few sessions. The las-beam splits the air with the usual sharp *crack* of super-heated gasses, and the plate shatters. "Hah!" Rolling my neck, I wait for another plate to be propped up by the feed system at the end of the range, and then repeat the process.

On the whole I'm a bit surprised by just how _well_ it goes. Even with the pendant I still found the hellgun getting heavier over the course of a long session, the weight dragging at my aim just slightly near the end of the set. This time though I can _feel_ the tiny machines in my veins working to cycle out the lactic acid, repairing micro-tears as quickly as they form, and generally keeping my limbs in perfect condition.

Eventually I come to the end of the time I have scheduled, and return my weapon to its holster along with the empty las-packs. From a few booths down I can hear what sounds like some more teasing, and when I follow the taunting whispers I find Jez wearing an expression like she's been kicked in the puppy, and a flush that extends down her neck and under her the top of her uniform. "Is something wrong armswoman?"

"Oh, she's just a couple months in the red."

" _Lucy!_ " The hiss isn't as quiet as it was probably intended.

"It could be worse, ask Gabrielle. Besides-" I give them a wink. "-that's what you get for doubting me."

* * *

**Segmentum Obscurus**   
**Calixis Sector**   
**Malfean Sub-Sector**   
**The Warp**   
**Heavy Transport - Writ of Surplus**   
**9.874.738M41**

Zero shivers when I run my thumb across her newly-revealed silvery synth-skin, brow relaxing as though to let her eyes drift shut, but unable to do so with the augmentics she has. I'd never realized before meeting mine that the Skitarii _don't have eyelids_. Their enhanced targeting augmentics are always active, and contain blessed salves that make sure nothing gets dried out where it shouldn't. I'm not sure how I feel about that detail, but the collars didn't deign to 'fix' it, so I guess it doesn't count as a blemish.

"#####" She leans into the touch, possibly the first gentle contact she's felt on bare skin in decades. The sounds that escape her aren't exactly the moans I'm used to, but I'm pretty sure I know what she's 'saying' anyway. The edges of her goggles and her cognis-respirator have separated a bit as they're absorbed, and the residual mask portion of the latter should be detaching sometime today.

"You seem to be enjoying this." I tease, and the texture of her cheek under my fingers changes ever so slightly. It's a feature Eta figured out, the ability to mimic flushed skin by altering the gloss of the surface. I'm just thrilled I can make my Mechanicus women blush now.

"Milord, the sensation is-" She pauses uncharacteristically, clearly preoccupied. "-quite distracting. Combat efficiency will be reduced."

"You realize the contact sensors can be turned _off_ in combat."

"Y-yes Milord." My thumb brushing along her cheekbone nearly has her whimpering, a lifetime of touch-starvation brought to an end by a man she's now programmed to find intensely attractive. Lifting my other hand, I look over Zero's shoulder and beckon… Three? I think? Closer. As she approaches, I'm left none the wiser regarding her identity, but I cup her right cheek the same way I'm treating her boss's left. Her self control is a little less iron-hard, and she outright _whimpers_ at the touch.

"Like petting a cat." I tease, and Zero freezes for a moment.

"If Milord wishes I can…" A change to the movement of my thumb distracts her. "...investigate the possibility of obtaining such an abhuman."

"...Don't devote substantial resources to it."

"Yes milord."

* * *

**Segmentum Obscurus**   
**Calixis Sector**   
**Malfean Sub-Sector**   
**The Warp**   
**Heavy Transport - Writ of Surplus**   
**9.42.739M41**   
**Warp Timeslip Correction: +384**   
**7.426.739M41**

"Oof." The distant star of the Port Wander system is barely worth paying attention. "That's a steep timeslip for the distance. Skipped right over Sanguinala and The Emperor's Fraction."

"I wonder how the Glare is doing with their mission? It's been two years Terra since they set out."

"Everyone with a collar is still alive. Who knows if they've even seen the Corsair though?"

**Segmentum Obscurus**  
 **Koronus Sector**  
 **Koronus Expanse**  
 **Heathen Stars**  
 **Ravening Glare**  
 **7.476.738M41**

"STAND AND FIGHT COWARDS!!!" The captain roars as their quarry disappears again, this time leaving their own prey mostly intact in favor of dancing agilely away the moment the Glare turns her gaze upon them. In over a year they've never gotten close enough to fire upon the corsair ship, and while their mere presence has certainly hindered their predations, halted the loss of ships, it just _isn't enough_. "What do they get from this? This is six raids we've interrupted now, they _can't_ be turning a profit."

"We're chasing them." His longtime Master of Guns, now Mistress of Guns, speaks up.

"We've covered that. Trying to draw His Lordship's fleets away from something, trying to draw us toward something, costing us money, time, fuel, and men." He sighs, then presses one of the jewels on the arm of his command throne. "Navigators, is there any chance we've been blessed with the ability to dive after them this time?" They've been rotating their auguries ever since the ship began its dive in-system, looking for a safe place to perform a transition inside the Mandeville limit.

"Safe _enough_." There's a vicious glee in the words, mixed with no small trepidation, and Dobesh grips the arms of his throne in suddenly white knuckled hands as the ship's great reactors roar to full power. A few unprofessional screams come from less senior members of the bridge crew while the hull rings like a gong under the impact of every warp-shutter across the outer hull slamming shut at once.

"NAVIGATOR!"

It's a different voice that responds. "Anjeka is busy now Captain. You asked us to rotate auguries, it was either right now or in another half-hour." Faintly behind her voice he can make out what sounds like the screams of the damned, and shudders at the thought of what might be making that noise.

"What is that screaming?"

"The Vortex." Her tone suggests explaining something that shouldn't _need_ to be explained. Then she pauses and blurts out a hurried "Call a tech-priest!" With that the intercom cuts out, and he trades a look with his old friend.

"Have you been feeling more reckless?"

"No sir." The body might be relatively new, and distracting, but the smirk is still pure Alan. "But that sounded more like frustration. A familiar concept."

Around them the Ravening Glare's hull and frame groan with the stress, the reactors roaring distantly to provide power to the field bracing backing up their thin protective shell. A few exposed frame members along the vaulted ceiling of the bridge crackle with the potent energies, but they remain tamed for the time being, content to skitter across their special cables and lend their actinic glow to the surface.

Another of the jewels inset in the arm of his throne requests a report from the head engineseer. Under the circumstances he'll be surprised if one is forthcoming in less than ten minutes, the ship herself takes priority with the priest, and always will. "Adjunct, go roll the twistcatchers out of bed. All of them. I have a bad feeling we're going to need them awake. Tell them they're authorized for Promethium-N if they need it. Doubletime."

"Sir!" The young man sprints from the bridge, frightened as any man would be by a crash-dive into the Immaterium, but setting his fear aside when duty calls.

"You think it's going to be that bad?"

"Emperor preserve us, I know it's going to be that bad."

* * *

"He authorized _what!?_ " What little sleep was left in his eyes after the emergency Warp klaxon vanishes at the boy's words. "Well, be on your way, there's fifty more of us." A sharp boot to the corner of the door pops open old Krenat's locker, bypassing the burn trap in the handle, and he starts strapping his armor on to the sound of the boy's boots hammering along the hallway outside. "I'm getting too old for this." The popping of joints as he settles the carapace lends credence to the complaint, not that there was anyone there to hear either sound.

Rolling his shoulders, he takes a moment to focus on the hundreds of tiny vials lining the inside of the breastplate. They're a poor substitute for purity seals, but he's kept a little bit of blessed promethium from every priest he's ever had the pleasure of being blessed by in the line of duty. Every station, every friendly ship, every city planetside he's ever visited on leave. "Emperor protects, we burn in His name." He mutters, rubbing a thumb over the aquila engraved on the side of Big Woosh, before pulling the heavy flamer off the rack and heading for the armory. For some reason the master at arms doesn't let them keep the promethium backpacks in their quarters.

"Old man."

"Whippersnapper." His apprentice falls into step beside him, falling just a little behind to clear the door. "So, ammo-man, why the emergency warp?"

"The Forever Stumbler tried their hit and run again, guess the captain's getting frustrated."

"Burning mutants now so we can burn Eldar later." He chuckles as he hooks up the backpack. "This is a good day. Emperor Protects!"

"You have bilge seventeen. Get going."

"Aye aye. C'm on boy, hurry up."

"With your knees?"

"You're too old to paddle, but you're never too old for the lash." Despite the words, his knees have been getting worse. Another two years and Krenat reckons he'll have to put down the flamer pack for good. If some _thing_ doesn't get him first. "Think the quartermaster would authorize augmentics?"

"Are you as grumpy with him as everyone else?"

"Heh." Their boots ring against the floor plating, and the pilots on their flamers hiss with a barely audible flow of promethium on their way to the bilge. Seventeen is near the aft end of the port sunsear battery, chill as a tomb when the guns are cold, but capable of flashing to a nearly boiling heat when the great weapons fire. It takes them a while to get there, even the tram along the spine of the ship only cutting the journey down to a few minutes once they board. "Remember kid-"

"Watch the backsplash, careful the lubricants, stay out of the cog-boy's way, and burn the mutant."

"And don't look directly at the guns. Like a frakking flash-grenade every damned time."

The dull roar of the plasma drives rises as the pair make their way deeper into the bowels of the ship, the hallways and rooms hotter and colder by turns as they find themselves in some of the passages bedecked with man-thick plasma conduits, running from the reactors to one plasma-guzzling system or another. For all the refitting she's seen, the Glare is still an old Gothic class at her core, and her beating heart surges with a fury seen in few ships her weight.

"Old man? You hear that?" He pauses at the words, looking to his apprentice. The boy has the ears of youth, and without augmentics he can't afford the old man has to rely on him as a substitute. "Sounds like screaming."

"Well, hurry up then! Lead the way!" Their positions reversed, he's left running after the boy his knees complaining with every stride. Another hundred paces and he can hear it too, men and women screaming in terror and pain, the roars of something inhuman, or no longer human, mixed in with the noise. His fingers flick the main valve on Big Woosh, fingers tightening around the grips as he rounds the wide doorway into the caisson on the heels of young Tad. The boy's frozen in place, reeking of fear and piss, but also holding the attention of something _way_ too big and pink.

"FOR THE EMPEROR!!!" His shouted words are nearly drowned out by the tremendous *WOOOOOSH!* from his flamer, the bent vents from a long-ago hammerblow giving the weapon its name. A wide jet of holy flame erupts into the room, enveloping the thing along with the violent orgy at its feet. Tad yelps and stumbles backwards, broken from its spell by the heat and the noise. He rallies well enough considering all he's dealt with before are mutants, and his flamer joins the conflagration.

The fallen crew scream in agonized ecstacy as they're reduced to ash, the upright still farther back in the room watching in continuing horror. After a handful of seconds he lets off the trigger, then reaches over to turn the valve on his apprentice's flamer to cut that off too. "W-what was that?"

"That your first gellar flicker kid?"

"Y-yessir."

"The pink things _really_ like eldar, but they'll take what they can get."

"Oh…"

"And boy?"

"Yeah?"

"Sorry 'bout this." placing his hands on his shoulders, the old man brings his knee up hard, racking his apprentice mercilessly, and yet mercifully at the same time. The boy falls to his knees with a shrill squeal, doubling over despite the armor he wears.

"Whyyyyyy!?!?!?!?!?"

Kneeling down next to the boy he asks "Remember your lessons about excess. I can't have you presenting a banner if that's what we're dealing with, just get you corrupted too. Now pull yourself together and get back on your feet. We're not done."

"Why… not you too?"

"I'm _old_ kid, it don't work no more. Least… not without a lot more exposure. You catch me hoisting a banner though, you rack me too. Doin me a favor." Extending a hand, he helps the boy back to his feet, his own joints creaking in the process. "By the by, this is why we _never_ work alone."  
...

"Damned reckless-" **BA-BLAM!** "-fool-" **BA-BLAM!** "-damned long-ears-" **BA-BLAM!** "-damned daemons-" **BA-BLAM!** "-and damn my own lazy ass." **BA-BLAM!** The bolt pistol barks reassuringly every time she pulls the trigger, and Farrah's skill with the weapon is quite adequate, but she's never practiced the art of killing the unkillable with one. "-Never got around to it-" **BA-BLAM!** "-Then that _Damned Bitch-_ " **BA-BLAM!** "-Killed the ones who knew."

It's no Eye of Oblivion, but mimicking a gellar field on a personal scale still puts the invaders on the back foot, none of them are terribly strong, coming as they did from the very edges of the swarm chasing after the Eldar. "It was going _so well!_ " **BA-BLAM!** "Safe dive after them-" **BA-BLAM!** "-bloodhound their warp trail-" *click*... There's no louder sound when you're expecting a BANG than a quiet click. "Reloading!"

Ducking back behind the doorway, she nods to one of the armsmen standing there contributing his own weight of fire.

"Emperor Protects!"

"That he does." Letting the magazine clatter to the floor, she loads another while keeping the warp-suppression going for the benefit of the bridge-guard. "This used to be a lot more tiring."  
...  
...  
...

"Report!"

"Aye Captain. Approximately eight thousand casualties, of whom two thousand are dead, one thousand taken, and five walking wounded. Port sunsear battery gun seven reduced to half firing rate until new serfs can be trained, estimate, one week. One hundred fourteen compartments rendered temporarily unusable, tech-priest estimates hold one week to remedy that as well. Bridge antechamber irredeemably corrupted, all paneling will need to be burned where it isn't already. Gellar field now holding steady at eighty six percent strain, owing to…" The lieutenant trails off uncertainly.

"To whatever they're doing to chase an eldar ship through the Warp?"

"I assume so sir… Sir, what do we do?"

"Pray."

 **Segmentum Obscurus**  
**Koronus Sector**  
**Koronus Expanse**  
**Heathen Stars**  
**Ravening Glare**  
**9.530.738M41**

"Again?" Kaarel's question is directed out ahead of the ship, into the swirling madness that is The Warp. The little eddies and shifts where her quarry's passage disturbed the native energies stand out to those who know to look, and even where the path splits and fractures the greater disturbance remains clear, though only just. Made from the very stuff of the Warp itself, their quarry's hull can dive far deeper than the Ravening Glare, but their passage leaves ripples that make their way back up, and the Glare can dive deep enough to sniff them out.

"Hmm?" Anjeka's inquisitive sound is accompanied by a hand on her shoulder, soothing and reassuring through the stress of navigation. There's concern in her voice as well, worry over how long she's been on the throne.

"More wraithbone decoys." She's merely assuming as much, since she can't _see_ the Dancing Forever, or however the thing's name translates next time the bastards decide to taunt them. But the signs of their passage are still clearer than their decoys.

Hunting Eldar like this is a colossal shift in perspective. For the first time they managed to dive close enough and fast enough to catch the trail, three thousand lives a cheap price for the opportunity. Ideally she'd be navigating in shifts with her kin, but they might not get another chance, and she's their best tracker. Third best in the family after Solana and her husband. The blessed elixirs produced by the Navigator's Throne burn in her veins, driving away the need for sleep, forcing her to remain alert and attentive even as her body suffers. It's been nearly a month since she's slept, drawing on the miracle of the Throne and the energy of The Warp to keep going.

"How long are they going to run? We left our charts six days ago. We need to tell the captain soon, before it's too late to turn back."

"They can't stay down forever..." There's a viciousness in her tired voice. "Surface and die, or stay and die." She shakes her head a little, pushing down the mono-focus on the task. "Have you been charting as we go?"

"We have, but without emerging to check coordinates we're drifting."

"Right…" The drugs coursing through her make it harder to think on other subjects, not impossible, but slower as she can't take her main focus off her tracking. "When you tell him, ask if we can shoot."

* * *

"She wants to _what!?_ " Captain Dobesh asks, aghast. "While we're already at ninety percent gellar stress?"

"One hit." Anjeka answers. "That's all it would take. One good hit that causes a hull breach, and that corsair is dead at that depth."

" _So are we!_ " Taking a deep breath, he considers the options. "We're well provisioned and almost fully fueled. How long to get back if we _do_ run off your charts?"

"We already are. We've been charting as we go, but they're unreliable without emerging, repeatedly. The longer we chase them into the middle of nowhere, the longer it's going to take to get back, but it's not one to one. If we turn back now, maybe a month. In another week it might be a year. The Glare doesn't have the stores for more than that Captain."

"I know." He ponders their situation for a few minutes, elbows leaning on the desk in his ready room, fingers rubbing at his temples. "Alaina?"

"We'd be firing blind if we did, I've been working with the Navigators and…" He shakes his head. "Too much of a gamble I say."

"I'm inclined to agree. Unless there's something you haven't shared?" He returns his attention to Anjeka.

"No."

"Then we turn back. _DAMN!_ " He slams his fist on the desk. "If we could force them to stand and fight…"

"Terrace can take over navigation then. I need to get Kaarel to the medicae."

"How long will it take her to recover?"

"Weeks." Anjeka sighs, then perks up a bit "Unless the collars help with that? I'll be praying for her." With that she leaves the room, allowing the captain and his old friend to their thoughts.

* * *

"They're breaking off." A sigh of relief is beneath her dignity, but a measured breath to maintain her calm is not. "I still cannot see where they will be, but where they are now has turned back."

"Damned Mon-keigh are more persistent than astral hounds." Ysulon curses. "Wait another five cycles, then make for the nearest gate. We can carry out repairs once we're safe, then make another attempt to twist the knife. Hopefully we can draw more ships out."

"Maybe he has no more to send." Fenshae speculates. "His future is oddly shrouded, perhaps he is already dealing with the Annihilator's schemes."

"Oh, he has plenty, his crews certainly believe that when we kill them. We just need to cause enough pain."  
...  
...  
...

It's a torn and battered Aurora class that finally emerges from the Warp, her hull dented and scored by the energies of the Empyrean, the time spent flirting with the depths and the things living down there having left their marks. The Wraithbone construction will heal in time, and faster with skilled singing, but for now the sight of the Webway opening before them is a welcome one indeed to her crew.

Once through the gate, and with it safely closed again behind them, the Dances carefully drifts down to alight on the 'floor' such as it is, and much of her complement of bonesingers emerges to clamber over the hull as they sing it back into shape. Captain Ysulon slowly sips millenia-old wine from a goblet pre-dating the Mon-Keigh as he watches his ship slowly being put back together. The windows in his stateroom providing a commanding view of the proceedings.

"A pale shadow of the songs we once sung." He doesn't _quite_ spill his wine at the unexpected voice, uttered a mere hairsbreadth from his ear.

"Isha's _Teat!_ Don't do that!" He snaps, rounding on the intruder before his eyes widen. The colorful lozenge pattern and silvery mask telling him all he needs to know about who would dare disturb him like that. "What _now_!?"  
...  
...  
...

"You are certain of this?"

"Ha! Is anything truly certain? Every dance changes the players, and the players the dance. New masks joining the cast hiding new faces, or are they old faces? Who can say before they're pulled away?" With that the damnable clown downs the rest of his wine and leaps backward over the back of his seat. Ysulon doesn't bother checking behind the furniture, he's already gone. If he was even there in the first place… In his absence his wineglass is full again.

"Hmm." Taking a sip from his own gobblet, he's brought up short when it's empty. Looking down, the clown's mask looks back from where his reflection in the crystal belongs, laughing silently. Gritting his teeth, he places it on the table and reclaims his own, inspecting it closely for any tampering. The fluid within is no longer wine, and he casts it away in disgust. "Wine without flavor or cask indeed. I have already seen more than I care to of that damnable Mon-keigh ship. If they're caught up in the Annihilator's schemes I'd much prefer to keep my distance."

 _"...Feasts without course..."_ The words echo back up from his memory again, and he splits the air with a foul word before reigning in his anger. Fury, but not to excess, the balancing act of the Outcaste. His accoutrements are still unruffled by his brief outburst, and so with a calming breath he returns to the bridge. "Set a course. Once the repairs are complete, we turn this hunt around."

"Ys?" Fenshae asks, concerned. He lets her use of that name in front of the crew slide for the moment.

"The mon-keigh seem to have laid hands on something that does not belong to them. Some small number are keeping their souls from the Empyrean when they perish." The bridge quiets abruptly, every Aeldari in the room completely still, and then the sound of carrying out their tasks resumes, if anything with greater focus than before.

"How do you know?" His mate asks quietly, moving to stand next to him. Wordlessly he passes her the wineglass, still somehow reflecting the laughing clown, only for it to shatter of its own accord when she looks.

"Naturally." Looking down, the pieces of shattered crystal form a lozenge pattern on the floor.

* * *

**Segmentum Obscurus**  
**Koronus Sector**  
**Koronus Expanse**  
**Heathen Stars**  
**Ravening Glare**  
**9.548.738M41**

"Did we get them?" Kaarel's voice wakes her wife, snuggled into her side despite the best efforts of the chiurgeons.

"What was that?"

"Did we get them? The Eldar?"

"No, Captain ordered us back." Shifting her arm a bit where it's laying over Kaarel's chest, Anjeka cups her cheek with the back of her hand, rubbing her thumbnail across her former husband's lips. Behind her she can hear one of the chiurgeon's apprentices shudder and back away, the sight of a hand articulated backwards still disturbing to them. "But you kept them busy for a month, a month of no more attacks on our shipping, no more Winterscale crew lost to them… Well, unless you count the ones lost when I made the crash entry."

"Beginning of month."

"True, and we didn't have any more with you on the throne. How are you feeling? You pushed pretty hard."

"Hungry."

"I'll call for food. You're still in the medicae, so it's going to be terrible, but it'll fix the problem."

"Wait."

"Hmm?-mmph!-mmmmm…" Anjeka hardly resists being pulled in for a kiss before food. Six weeks without kissing her wife is _far_ too long. Climbing farther onto the medicae bed, she straddles Kaarel and gropes her chest while deepening the kiss, the contact full of promises for after her recovery is finished.

"Ahem!"

Reluctantly pulling away, she turns to look toward the door where the chiurgeon is looking disapproving. "Not on the diagnostic bed please. Save it for your own. You've been fed intravenously for the past week Lady Cassini, so eat slowly." Stepping aside, he allows the menial through with the platter of food. There's nothing exciting on it, bread, bland sausage, salty cheese, and a few large ploin fruits, slightly shriveled after being frozen for storage. "Eat up."

"Hunger is the best spice." Kaarel remarks dryly, biting into one of the ploin fruits and choking down the bitter rind, knowing full well the chiurgeon will scold her for leaving the nutrient-dense portion behind.

"Oh, and Lady Cassini?" He pauses as he turns to leave, looking back at the Navigator still in bed. "No vigorous activity for at least another day."

"That's ok, she can be a pillow princess." Anjeka answers with a smile. Her wife is accustomed to her mouth, in more ways than one, but the chiurgeon falters a moment before rallying.

As he walks away, sharp ears can just make out the rhetorical question of whether the statistically superior bedside manner is worth keeping his emotions.

* * *

"Remember, just relax." the sparkle in her eyes conveys just how difficult she intends to make that as she helps Kaarel into bed before flopping down between her legs, grabbing her wife by the thighs and pulling her close. Her grin matches the sparkling eyes, and when she leans in she starts by just pressing gentle teasing kisses up one side and down the other, letting her tongue poke out just enough to be felt, and giggling.

"Anje-"

"What's good for the goose…" the giggling becomes outright laughter, which feels wonderful, but not in the right places. The kissing moves to nibbling, first on the left, then the right, sampling the flavor of her wife as she slickens, tugging gently with her teeth barely gripping sensitive flesh, not enough to hurt, but enough to provide the thrill of the threat. Up, around, and down, skipping over her already straining clit except for a slow teasing breath of hot air that makes Kaarel moan and dig her fingers in Anje's hair.

"Ah Ah!" The pleasure stops as Anje grabs her wrists, pushing her arms aside. "Just relax, remember?"

"This is vengeance, isn't it?"

"Now what could I possibly be getting vengeance for?"

Kaarel just groans, resigned to the sweet torture, and eager for the inevitable finish. She doesn't _have_ a refractory period anymore, but according to her wife she still makes the absolute best noises when begging. The only real change is the flesh Anje has to play with to hear them, and the precise pitch her voice makes. She can't keep her hands away from Anje's hair, but each time they're pushed away, and the nibbling stops just long enough to let her start to cool off. Her pounding heart gives lie to any claim this is _relaxing_ , but she'd cheerfully murder anyone who tried to make it stop without finishing.

Wrapping her legs around her wife earns a warning bite and another grin that shows in her eyes. "Hn-nnn!"

"You're going to kill me woman." She just laughs and returns to her teasing, agile tongue flicking up and down along her lips, sometimes to the left, sometimes to the right, and occasionally a flick or a long slow lick up the middle that catches her clit and sends lightning up her spine, causing her back to arch and pressing her head into the pillow. Clenching her fists in the sheets helps a little to keep them away and keep the pleasure going, but time and again her legs get her in trouble, wrapping around without her intent, earning another warning bite.

"Imagine if Tristain were here." Her mind's eye turns the words to fantasy, her young cousin hovering over the pair of them watching, stroking his cock as Anjeka prepared her for him, or maybe taking Anje from behind, his thrusts forcing her face farther into Kaarel's cunt, rubbing her nose against her clit like she's _still teasing!!!_ "Oh? You like that? Hehehe, so do I."

"Hnnng!... But… Marce-"

"They share women between them." Surprised, Kaarel props herself up to look down between her legs. "That's the rumor, and their guards aren't very convincing when they deny it." With those words her now giggling wife returns to her licking, now finally sucking her throbbing clit between her lips and lashing it thoroughly with her tongue. On it's own it would have set fire to her mind after all the teasing, but with the prospect of that young couple joining them… "Can you just imagine?-" No, she _can't_ , because Anje stopped licking again! "-Licking Marcella while he takes you?" A few more seconds of licking and humming before _arrgh!_ "Maybe after he's had her?-" Anjeka takes an exaggerated sniff of the air, getting a noseful of Kaarel's aroused scent. "-just imagine the taste and the smell." She's too busy arching her hips off the bed to imagine anything, lifting Anjeka too with her arms wrapped around her thighs. Finally though her giggling wife finishes her off, a pair of fingers sliding inside and making a hooking motion, combined with a sharp hum with her lips wrapped around her clit.

"Grrglaaahkmmmaaahh…" It's not coherent, there's no thought in the growling scream, and no heed to Anje trying to pry her legs apart again. The pleasure after six weeks and an hour of teasing pushes it all aside.

When she finally relaxes, panting in the aftermath, Anjeka crawls up on top of her with a dripping face, giving her a mock-glare for making such a mess. As she lays down atop her though, Kaarel holds her close and obligingly licks her mess off her wife's face, before turning it into a passionate kiss. "Tomorrow night it's your turn to scream." Anjeka laughs at the promise.

"I'm looking forward to it."

* * *

The slow growth of wraithbone in large contiguous forms is ordinarily a beautiful sight, tranquil and elegant in ways all too rare in the galaxy as it sadly exists. Oh, a single wraithguard may take a mere cycle, with the truly skilled singers able to accomplish the task in a handful of arcs, but cutting away large swathes of hull and re-growing them to their full strength is an arduous task. As such many cycles pass before the Dances Across All Time is ready to take to the void once again, nights and days of worry over the fate of those the Mon-keigh have their hands on.

"I am concerned, my heart." Fenshae admits privately, laying next to Ysulon in one of their rare moments of reprieve from the eternal minor concerns of even a grounded cruiser. "What of their fate-cloak? Where and how did they obtain such an artifact? Even the Yngir never fielded more than a handful."

"Our quarry fields at least four."

"Four? Is this also something the harlequin told you?"

"No. You may not see their future, but _I_ can read the hand on the helm."

"Any other mon-keigh ship I would disregard, but with the fate-cloaks they present a true threat. I cannot warn of their attempts to strike us, holofields and wraithbone alone are all we have."

"Not _all_. We are promised aid I expect you will find most reassuring… Don't look, I desire to witness your honest surprise."

"You knew who you courted three centuries ago." Ysulon merely smiles gently, he did indeed know, and knows her better now. There is no regret, and a faint hope that in another century the pair of them may embark on the path of the parent together. Assuming they both still live.  
...  
...  
...

The hull of the Dances Across All Time is less elegant in appearance now, the patches bearing the high-gloss of new growth, while the existing hull is weathered by the inevitable micro-impacts that happen continuously in space. The color isn't quite the same either, as the souls singing the repairs are not the same as those who sung the original hull. The latter is merely another mark of character for the faithful ship, the newest color of wraithbone joining the dozens of other patches she's received over the seven millenia of her service.

The webway tunnel they sail through is largely empty, the vast open space a reminder of how much traffic once passed through, the very nature of the labyrinthian dimension accommodating itself by growing with the number of users, expanding in long millennia past to handle all the shipping of their once-great empire… Before the fools at the center held one violent orgy too many, sparking the fall.

None aboard the ship remember it, nor the greater part of their parentage, but the stories from before, and the memories of the few who did, are still kept alive in the craftworld they haven't seen in a few years, and won't for some years hence.

Eventually they come to a stop at an intersection with a tiny tributary, a hallway barely wide enough for two to pass abreast, and leading to places unknown to him. "Open a channel."

"Captain."

"The strongest net is useless if not tightly enough woven."

*Vorp*...*Vorp* *Vorp**Vorp*...*Vorp**Vorp**Vorp* *Vorp**Vorp* The staccato flashes of light herald the arrival of their guests. Ysulon doesn't bother turning around to face them, they're not the type to care for the gesture if he were to make it.

"Welcome aboard. We have work to do. Helm, resume course."

* * *

"Three armed transports Captain, no other escorts, no sign of the ghost ship."

"For now. I'm certain they will appear soon enough when we attack."

 **"You are certain."** It's easy to tell who on the bridge is accustomed to hearing the voice modulators in aspect armor, they're the ones whose ears don't twitch at the sound.

"They always do, however much we may have desired a larger force instead. Our failure may be for the best in the end, it wouldn't do to have the mon-keigh's stolen treasures falling into Ork hands."

 **"No, it would not. I imagine our people ending as an orkish mockery of jewelry, and the thought turns my stomach."** There's a weighty pause, and then the armored figure turns away. **"Call us immediately when the ghost ship appears."**

However that damnable cruiser manages to find them time and again, it's easily apparent that the rank and file among the arrogant human merchant's fleet lack the advanced sensors. As his ship hurtles deeper into the system from the gate hidden out in the dark, the trio of freighters remain ignorant of their impending fate. "Fitting, isn't it? How ignorant they are of the galaxy around them. Stunted souls and stunted lives, too short by far to even begin to learn their place, or to advance it if they did."

"Barely better than the greenskins."

The long dive in-system passes by far more quickly than it would for any ship of lesser make, mere days passing as they swoop toward their prey instead of the week or more their true quarry is likely to take. It's the one thing that's kept them out of battle as yet, allowing them to strike and dance away before their foes can bring their fighting strength to bear. Clearing a ship deck-by-deck to obtain their cargo would hold them in place, if the cargo was their goal.

Lounging back in the wraithbone seat that's had half a century to learn his shape, Ysulon lets his eyes scan over the consoles arrayed across the bridge, searching for anything of note. His crew is good, but occasionally pre-empting their reports is a point of pride.

"If you always do that, they will stop giving reports." Fenshae whispers for his ears alone.

"If they do, I will return them to the infinity circuit myself."

* * *

**Segmentum Obscurus**  
 **Koronus Sector**  
 **Koronus Expanse**  
 **Heathen Stars**  
 **Ravening Glare**  
 **9.677.738M41**

The thin crystalline slats fly through her fingers, twirling and clattering as they shuffle and shuffle, bathed in the light of her Eye, her position and posture chosen to let His glory shine through on the instruments of His will. The ship is badly positioned for this, but even with Cadia between them and Holy Terra, His light remains true. Her shuffling persists until finally the tracery on the cards begins to glow, just a faint glimmer. Trying to gather more would just be greedy for the moment.

Bringing the tarot together into a single deck, the young navigatrix flips out an array to take a reading. "Human pirates are easier to hunt."

"Kirstin…" Her former husband, now wife, and won't her birth house love to know about _that_ when they return, wraps her arms around her. "Only when Winterscale agrees to use Visscher informants. Honestly, I'm surprised he included us for this crew."

"Solana spent five hours arguing with him."

"...Do I want to know how you know?"

"No." Jenchin sighs at her wife's tacit admission. You can take the girl out of the House, but he's long since despaired of taking the House out of his girl. "The Blind Seer, The Harlequin, The Supplicant… Hmm…"

"I don't… Wait, 'supplicant'. The Enduring Petitioner?"

"Tess's ship!" The pair of them scramble to their feet, Kirstin slapping the vox-box perhaps a little harder than proscribed by the cog-boys. "Captain, The Enduring Petitioner."

"Plot a course for Eydris Minor."

"Already on it Captain." Unlike her in-laws, Kirstin's augury for the journey itself has little use of ancestral servo-skulls. Instead she pulls a basin of psychoactive crystal out of a cabinet and fills it with water. The light of the warp shines through the water and reflects in strange patterns from the crystal, preparing it for the next step. A dagger forged by the light of her eye makes a small cut across the edge of her hand, adding yet another tiny scar to the collection of hundreds from wrist to tip of pinky. Tainted blood dribbles from the wound, her mutated bones seeping poisons along with the blood they replenish. The acrid scent is quickly caught by the air purifier systems and sucked away while her blood illuminates a miniature echo of the warp conditions around them.

The echo is all shades of red, impenetrable for any other house, but growing up with this rite it's clear enough for her. "Remember when we had to merge our charts?" Even without looking she knows the question brings a grimace to her wife's face, followed by a silly grin.

"That was a pain and a half." Her arms wrap around her waist, holding her loosely while she continues staring into the swirls of blood in the water. "Worth it though. Even if I ended up saddled with a conniving, sneaky, underhanded, backstabbing, devious, furtive..."

"Compliment me more."  
...  
...  
...

With the Ravenous Glare already waiting out in the dark between the stars, simply keeping station in the middle of the corsair's known theatre of operation, there's no time wasted leaving a system before they can make a safe warp entry. Instead the moment there's a course plotted and a clear augury, she's able to immediately tear open a short-lived rift in the universe and dive into the howling beneath.

"Anyone care to wager whether this is the time we catch them?" There's a few moments of silence as the bridge crew processes the Captain's question, then one of the armsmen standing guard speaks up.

"I'll wager a day of shore leave against a week of shore leave Sir."

"You think the odds are seven to one?"

"I'm praying they're better than that Sir."

"Good man. Scribe, take it down." Dobesh allows a slight grin to show as he leans back in his command throne. Let the crew wager shore leave at seven to one, it's good motivation, and when they do finally catch those bastards, they'll have earned it. "Anyone else."

A chorus of "Aye!" answers the question, followed by the rapid clicking of the scribe's transcription apparatus.

* * *

**Segmentum Obscurus**  
 **Koronus Sector**  
 **Koronus Expanse**  
 **Heathen Stars**  
 **Ravening Glare**  
 **9.706.738M41**

"They're here Captain." The confirmation over the repaired intercom immediately after exiting the warp brings a sigh of relief. For every time they've actually caught up in the past year, there's been a couple times that all they found were ships with narrow holes punched right through critical systems, left drifting with most of the cargo and crew still aboard.

"Good to know turning back didn't stall our hunt too much. Helm, best speed. They already know we're here, no need to hold back." The order is something of a formality, the ship's drives already roaring into the void even as the warp drive spools down. "Keep the gellar generators warm and the twistcatchers on rotation-"

"No Captain." one of the Cassini's countermands, a glance to the side shows it's Terrace. The long limbs with their strange joints giving her the overall appearance of some sort of insect. He quickly looks back at the main display to avoid the disturbing sight, but she takes it as a prompt to continue regardless. "They're already too close to the mining colony, if we dive after them we could kill everyone there, or worse. Chasing them before only risked the Glare."

"Very well. Is there anything you can do?"

"We can make the transition harsher for them, I think, none of us are trained in the technique but the theory is simple. By Imperial law we need permission from the highest ranked official in the system to attempt that, but in this case that's you."

"How risky is it untrained?"

"On this side of reality? It's not. We'd simply be attracting all manner of _things_ that live in the Warp to gather around. As long as we don't jump into the middle of them afterwards… I'm not sure it'd actually do anything to the Eldar come to think of it, they get an excessively warm welcome regardless."

"If you think it's worth the attempt, then do it."

"Aye Captain."

* * *

"They're here Captain." The confirmation of precisely which ship has entered the system brings an eager apprehension. They've spent over a year dancing around each other, trying to lure more of the arrogant mon-keigh's fleet to chase them, only to be followed by the same persistent vessel again and again. They're bizarrely prescient for mon-keigh, that much credit he must reluctantly give them, but here their fortune has run out.

Ysulon is familiar with the silhouette of what the savages call a 'gothic' cruiser, this will be the third such craft laid low by the Dances Across All Time, precision strikes of the pulse-lances will undoubtedly spear through their primitive and enormous drives, leaving them drifting helplessly for him to pick apart at his leisure. Tracing his fingers along the wraithbone of his chair, he speaks aloud. "Exarch, our quarry has just entered the system."

 **"Excellent. The stolen stones?"** He looks to Fenshae for the answer, finding her sitting with her eyes closed and runes clutched in her hands, Empyreal light coursing along the psychic buffers as she reaches out across the system to take a look.

After quite a while of gazing into the future, she laughs lightly. "However good their trick, they still use it like the primitives they are."

"They're still hiding their warp-eyed?" Ysulon shakes his head slightly, such a waste of otherwise impressive trickery. Had the mon-keigh ship left one of their seers visible, his mate may not have noticed something was wrong. Instead they hide an entire vital segment, like a holofield that projects images of only half the ship, the illusion more obvious than simply doing nothing.

 **"Good. We will be ready when you pierce their protections."**

"It will be some cycles before we engage, simply turning to engage them would tear away the ruse far too soon, so we continue on toward their cargo vessels instead. Perhaps we will even claim some of the spoils this time."

 **"Is that not also a departure?"**

"It is, but a smaller departure than turning to face them outright."  
...  
...  
...

There's an air of anticipation that fills the wraithbone halls in a way that's been long absent. Fat-bellied cargo ships provide no challenge, no opportunity to exercise skill, and for the first time in over a year the Dances will be facing a foe capable of doing them harm. Gunners turn their attention to drills, bonesingers wander the ship with flutes and lyres, testing the echoes of the hull for any dissonance. The pilots take to the training simulators to duel again and again, skirmishing as well as they may to hone their reflexes and approaches, taking it in turns to helm their best approximation of the sluggish primitive craft.

"How can they stand it? It's like swimming in tar."

"The only true grace they'll ever witness is in battle against our kind. How can they miss what they've never had?"

"Your question is well asked, I suppose they cannot. Pity their lives are so short, or they might produce something worthwhile."

"Some are, they still don't."

Elsewhere aboard the ship, a squad aspect warriors see to their armor, checking it over for the slightest hint of imperfection. The heavy suits are themselves veterans of far more battles than their wearers, each one stretching back a thousand years or more and still in perfect working order. Three show signs of their warding having been added after they were first sung, a blatant sign of Aeldari equipment that predates the fall.

Spools of monowire are checked with care, snags or feed failures of any kind can bring disaster on the battlefield, and humiliation to the victim whether they overcome the problem or not. As they work they review the mission ahead, the certainties and the unknowns, for both can be the key to victory or failure.

 **"Giltys, safe standoff from a gellar relay for jumps."**

 **"Three spears outbound, twenty inbound."**

 **"Mendavar, standard armsmen compliment for the mon-keigh gothic type."**

 **"One legion, with another eighteen poorly trained, plus variable numbers of guard unaccustomed to boarding. Given The Winterscale's proclivities, I estimate three legions well trained, sixteen poorly, no guard."**

 **"A safe estimate."** Left unspoken is the simple fact that none of them will survive being cornered, no amount of grace or skill can compensate when outnumbered a thousand to one. Of course, not one of them here has ever been cornered in hundreds of years on the path of the warrior. A standing fight is not their way.  
...  
...  
...

Where many races would grow impatient, then gradually relax, and finally become lax at the worst possible moment, the perspective of centuries brings with it a certain patience. Just as a ten-cycle seems forever to the very young, it passes quickly to the apprentice, and in the blink of an eye for the old master. There's little cause for impatience in a matter of a week or two, and they have other endeavors to distract them as well.

The ungainly transports, even by the atrocious aesthetics of the mon-keigh, find themselves drifting powerless in mere minutes, even the arrival of their protector and its screams across the void to warn them doesn't matter when they waste all their shots on holograms, and maneuver so slowly that lining up a perfect shot can be done at leisure.

Distant explosions and the faint glimmer of lasers illuminating the shrapnel from their own prior shots illuminate the void around the mon-keigh ships, but Ysulon ignores the threatless display as he watches the pilot and gunner cooperate to place the pulse-lance strike exactly where they mean to. The bright beam spears out across the distance in the blink of an eye, and one of the ships goes dark with that single shot. When it remains dark after a tenth-arc the captain speaks up. "Well done." As overbuilt as the ugly things are, eliminating the emergency systems in the same shot with the main reactor is quite challenging.

The second of the vessels is far less trivial, whoever's at the helm clearly possessed of some small gift of foresight, twisting the ship just as shots are taken again and again. There's little they can truly accomplish, merely forcing the Dances pulse lances to carve through more armor before finally achieving a similar result. Great gashes in the hull leak air and crew and cargo into the void. Only the coloration on the display separates the living from the other debris, and that not for long. As the engines go dark Caergen mutters something under his breath from his position at the fire controls, and Ysulon raises an eyebrow in his direction.

"Their warp-seer aided the helm." Fenshae informs the officer. "You did well enough, the ghost ship will be a greater challenge."

The gunner simply nods and moves on to the third ship in the convoy. The thing has had the time to come about and face them while they harried the second ship. Presumably they realized they have no hope of escape, and resolved to go down fighting. Ysulon can respect that defiance, the determination to spit in his eye despite having no chance.

"Aim for the bridge, defiance like that deserves a quick death."

"NOOOO!!!" The horrified scream from the Navigator's spire is audible from the bridge. It's faint, but given the blast doors separating the two chambers on a ship of the line Captain Dobesh is immediately alarmed.

"Augurs?"

"All I can see is those damned holofields sir."

"Of course." Gritting his teeth on the assumption it's warranted, the Captain presses the jewel on the arm of his command throne to connect to the spire's intercom. "What's the situation Navigator? We could hear you from the bridge."

"Tess- The Petitioner's… Their command deck is gone Captain." His teeth grind audibly at the news, and as he trades a look with Alaina he finds a similar expression on her face.

"They will be avenged. Cry if you must, but in six hours you will be needed." Pressing a different jewel, the hard edges of the raised cog on the surface distinct under his fingers, he asks a different question. "Can you speed us up?"

"Not if you want to be ####combat ready when we reach them ##Captain. The ##machine spirit is already baying for xenos blood, if we let her off the leash too soon she'll hurt herself before the fight. She's already running three percent over."

"Understood. Convey my thanks."

The captain's teeth continue to grind as he studies the plot of the system, the holo-tank dominating the center of the room shows only a blurry cluster of shapes where the holo-fields are interfering with the scans. The rest of the system is calm, almost no traffic visits the small colony, save for a convoy bringing perishables and hauling away partially refined ingots by the megaton a couple times a year.

"If only we had a course from the satellites." He muses, staring into the tank. "Mining one of their gates would be a coup."

"If we had mines."

"I'd still like to find the position for a minelayer to visit later."

* * *

"Your eyes saw clearly for many years, keeping safe His people as they travel the Empyrean. Now you go to join the currents without the safety of flesh or steel. May you find your way to His light, may your course be clear and your travel untroubled by all the hunters that lie in wait. The last journey is the clearest, following His light directly home to join our ancient ancestors at his side." The armaglass plates in the windows of the spire always feel cold under her hands, moreso now that she's a she, and even colder with the death of an old friend close enough to see but too far to help.

Kirsten forcibly lifts her other arm and slides in under it, wrapping her own arm around Jenshin's waist as she does. "Not all readings can be changed."

"Faint comfort."

"I know. But at least the Petitioner wasn't fostering anyone, so it's just Tess and Ruben. No children dead."

"None of ours."

"I doubt there were any other children on the command deck either."

"Not on the Petitioner."  
...  
...  
...

"Why now? What changed?"

"Captain?"

"They ignored the cargoes every other time, but they stop for partially processed duralium? No, they're up to something, and I don't like it."

"Orders?"

"Stick to the plan. We may not get another chance for another year." Looking around the bridge, and the duos hovering over each of the critical stations, ready to take over for the current occupant at the right moment, he smiles viciously. "They're not the only ones planning a trap, we'll just have to pray ours is better." A bit louder, he continues so the rest of the bridge can hear. "I still don't like the prospect of a battle where I can't issue orders, but over the past year I've come to trust you with my life-" One corner of his lip twists up and he adds wryly "-if not my secrets-" the aside is blatantly directed at Kirstin. "-and I know you will do this ship proud. Stand ready to do your parts, and give them hell."

"Think he might have a grudge?" The former member of House Visscher asks her assigned gunnery partner, a bit of humor leaking into her voice. "What did my family to do _him_?"

"Their reputation precedes you milady." 2nd Lt. Bouchard answers with similar humor. "I wouldn't trust you with any secrets either."

"Maybe I can obtain some of _their_ secrets." A hand waved toward the bow leaves no question what she means.

"The dead aren't very talkative."  
...  
...  
...

When the Aeldari cruiser abruptly turns away from the stricken transports, the Ravening Glare continues on, letting them believe that the holofield has them fooled. Even most on the bridge have no idea they've begun to move, as that might be something a seer could find. The prow lance is charged, but has been for a half-hour now, and so are the sunsear broadsides. Enormous capacitor banks turning great maintenance halls into sweltering furnaces with the monstrous energies contained. No arcing, no shocks, they're too well cared for for that, but the menials and acolytes tending the components break into a sweat and strip off their shirts to stay a little cooler.

The figments created by the holofield turn toward the Glare only a couple seconds after the Aurora class itself, but that's when the personnel currently at the various control stations begin to react, the Homo Navis hanging over their shoulders having given no warning. The ship begins to slew to port, presenting their starboard broadside in a raking profile even as the first shot from the prow lance comprehensively skewers a hologram. The first fusillade of enormous las-bolts from the sunsear broadside likewise scatter into the array of decoys surrounding the eldar ship. They're never in the center of their decoys, else it would be simple to land hits, and so the few bolts heading through there find only vacuum as well.

* * *

"Watch them flail blindly, stabbing the void with all their fury. Helm, bring us in close so our guests can begin their tasks. We can't risk destroying our property before it is retrieved."

"As you command." There's no sound to a properly functioning gravity sail, merely the gentle psychic pressure of the active wraithbone components, and the view of the stars wheeling around them. The holofields that give the mon-keigh such difficulty aren't even visible when looking outside, their ghostly forms only shown to the enemy. The pulse-lances are charged, but held at bay for the risk of obliterating a spirit stone with their fury. Before the battle can begin in the void, those will need to be retrieved.

Next to Ysulon his mate has her eyes closed and her fingers sunk into the wraithbone of her armrests, the material having flowed up and around them for better contact. He's manned the pilot's station with her providing prescience before, and aimed pulse-lances at the phantom futures she shares, but this cycle that privilege goes to others.

Closer and closer they dive toward the mon-keigh ship, approaching the point where their guests warp-packs can cross the gap. Finally it's time, and he strokes the wraithbone of his captain's chair. "Begin." There's a slight shiver in the hull when the warp-spiders make their exit, but he's far more concerned by Fenshae's horrified whisper.

"Khaines shattered bones-"

"What?"

 **"ABORT! TURN AWAY!"** She screams, but it's too late, the entire flank of the mon-keigh ship lights up in a brilliant crimson. Her warning comes too late, and the hull screams as dozens of macro-lascannons drill holes in the surface. An entire broadside unleashed at point blank range, utterly ignoring the holofields to focus on the ship hiding beneath. The sounds of shattering crystal echo through the ship as something large gives way, and half the crew is thrown to the floor by the sudden shaking as they tumble away from the impossible blow. "No no no no no no no no no-"

"Fenshae! What happened!?" His ribs are tender, possibly bruised where the impact tried to wrap him around the arm of his chair. Righting himself and looking over, he finds his mate bleeding from the nose, eyes glowing brightly and with lightning starting to spark off the pale orbs. "Calm yourself! Report!"

"They hid more. So much more! Hiding their mutants was a trick! Gunners, helmsmen, sensors… I didn't see them! I couldn't see them! Those weapons were going to miss and then they didn't! I can't see, they're recharging and I can't see their aim, can't see their course, I can't… That ship's future is a lie, I can see it now. Where they should be and where they are. We need to flee, bring reinforcements. That ship can't be allowed to-" The rest of her words are drowned by another cacophony of shattering sounds as the Dances spine is broken, grav-sails sheared off and interior compartments breached by the ravening glare of the mon-keigh's immense las-weapons. Making up for their primitive brutality with the sheer abundance of that brutality.

A crashing sound from nearby, a sharp pain and bitter cold. Looking down he finds one of the wraithbone spars from the roof of the command chamber has crushed his leg, his blood beginning to flow across it and down the dais that supports his chair. "I don't think that will be possible my love."

"NonoNONO **NONO!!!** " Her failure to predict the trickery from their brutish foes, the death of so many of her crew, now the death of her mate. Everything crashing down around her from that single failure. Spiraling out of control so fast. There's nothing she can do, the Dances Across All Time will never take another graceful step through the stars. She will never explore the path of the parent, so many things will never happen now.

More shattering noises announce the continued bombardment by the mon-keigh. She can see it coming now, but with no sails, no drives, and no holo-field there's nothing she can do about it.

"The fools came _far_ too close. The only time I've seen an eldar ship do _that_ was to deploy- Oh Emperor's Wrinkly Ballsack!" The captain mashes one of the jewels on the arm of his throne. **"ALL HANDS! WE HAVE BOARDERS!"**

Elsewhere a figure in heavy wraithbone plating pauses a moment at the sudden shipwide announcement, sighs, and then simply kicks open the door to the next compartment before filling the room with a roiling cloud of monofilament wire, shredding the contents before it's retracted back onto its spool. What the deathspinner leaves behind more closely resembles some form of stew than anything that might have once been a mon-keigh. They don't even have time to scream.

Stepping into the room to get out of the corridor, Warp-spider Giltys closes the door behind herself and makes another attempt to contact her Exarch. "Almon, can you hear me? Mendavar? Kayrys? Elatiren? I was separated by warp turbulence. I appear to be in some form of creche, possibly near the belly of the vessel."

"Almon can't hear anything Giltys. This is Kayrys, I found where he- He came out of the warp inside a bulkhead. His head and shoulders are on one side-"

"I see. And his armor?"

"Ask an artisan."

"This mission is not beginning well. Can you contact the Dances?"

"I could, until they were hit, badly."

"By the bloody hands of Khaine."

"I have Almon's spirit stone. If the Dances Across All Time is to escape, and us with it, we must render this vessel blind. Fortuitously, this does not change our targets. Make your way toward their command deck, find the most luxurious area. This is where they will be."

Kayrys isn't actually the second in command, but she has a better grasp on the situation. "Very well." Giltys replies, silencing her communicator for the moment. Looking around the blood-spattered room she's hiding in, she takes a moment for a closer look at the structure. The mon-keigh always overbuild everything so much, but rarely more than that. It's ugly, but makes studying their structures easier than some. She's more familiar with their planet-bound construction, but it's probably not that different.

...Then again, they have no reinforcements, no scouts, and their previous information was obviously wrong. Turning back to the door, she listens closely for a moment before easing it open, the squeal of the hinges which is so loud to her is probably barely audible to the mon-keigh. Pausing again to listen closely, there's the distant sound of activity, but where she is seems to be living quarters, nearly abandoned during battle. Stepping back out into the corridor, she makes her way toward what she thinks is the center of the ship. What little they know reliably about the mon-keigh's primitive vessels is that the central areas typically contain lift shafts that span their full height.

Of course, getting there can't possibly be that simple, and it isn't. Less than a minute after Giltys re-emerged into the corridor, the distant sound of boots hammering on deck plates sounds out, soldiers sprinting down an adjoining passage toward hers. "As a swarm of vermin." Breaking into a sprint herself, toward the oncoming troops, she rounds the corner just ahead of them and comes face to face for a split second, her death-spinner already spewing monofilament across the entire front rank of their formation before they can even recognize what's happening. Then it's retracted in a second blink of the eye, and she triggers her armor to jump back down the corridor before the bodies even finish falling over. Staying to count heads would serve no purpose save getting killed.

With line of sight temporarily broken, and their formation disrupted, she chooses another cross-passage and sprints down that direction for a handful of breaths, then presses against the wall between an ugly gold statue and a structural member, listening for the boots of the soldiers again. At first there's only the shouts of someone trying to bring order, and the screams of someone who survived their wounds, but after a few hundredths of an arc it quiets down again and the sound of boots picks back up, slower now, cautious.

Checking the runes on her armor, she jumps again, mere moments of exposure to whatever's happening around this ship feeling like the longest jumps she's done on this path. Reappearing, she forces her breath to remain steady through the pain and holds the trigger of her death-spinner, twisting in a three-quarters circle for maximum dispersion against lightly armored foes, then turns back as the filament retracts, and jumps out again.

The scouring of her soul is maybe a little lighter this time, but it's tiny degrees of pain, difficult to distinguish from each other. She emerges a few paces from the nook she departed from, and continues down the hall as fast as her legs will carry the heavy armor. She needs to lose her pursuers one way or another if she's to continue toward the command deck. If she cannot, then at least every mon-keigh chasing her in the bowels of their ship is not pursuing her fellow spiders.

* * *

As she watches another platoon of mon-keigh ride their lift down toward the belly of the ship, Kayrys can only muster a little more awe at the team troublemaker's ability to cause trouble.

"How is she doing this?"

"At the cost of her soul." she answers Mendavar's question. "Jumping around like that with the warp in this condition... Pray the Laughing One is watching, and use the time she has purchased." She takes a moment to offer that prayer herself, then continues climbing the ladder between two of the massive lift shafts. The lighting in here is mercifully poor, so even the unpainted portions of their armor are difficult for mon-keigh eyes to see. The loud machinery disguises their boots against the rungs as well as she leads the remaining half of their team toward the bridge and their targets.  
...  
...  
...

"Enough is enough. I'm going down there myself." Alana announces after yet another report of a very brief and painful encounter with one of the warp spiders down in the bilges.

"I need you here." The captain starts

"Groxshit. Their ship is in pieces. The only threat they have left is running around in the bilges ripping my people to shreds. My armor can take a hit from their weapons, maybe two, and I have a little _surprise_ for them in my quarters."

"Don't get killed old friend."

"I won't sir." Looking around at the armsmen she trained personally, stationed around the bridge, she takes a moment to encourage them. "And don't you lot get killed either. Stay in those damned corners where they can't show up behind you. Keep your lines clear, and your fingers on the trigger. Emperor Protects!"

"Emperor Protects!"

* * *

Pulling the slightly weathered weapon off the rack in her quarters, about to head into what seems to be a tiny slice of hell, Alana makes sure to carefully inspect the fuel canisters and the pinch coils for any signs of damage. It's not a full inspection, but one of the cog-heads just gave her armory a thorough inspection mere weeks ago so it should be fine. There are some weapons you just always inspect though, and a melta is one of them. It's not the ideal weapon for this hunt, but it's the best anti-armor tool in her arsenal. Setting it down, she hurries to don the armor standing on its rack next to her weapons collection, starting the timer in her augmentic eye as she does to match up with the battery. "Oh for a backpack reactor." It's not the first time she's uttered those words, and hopefully it won't be the last.

A few minutes later she's sprinting down the corridor for the lift, clattering to a halt against the back wall and flinging out an arm to hit the button.

A minute after that she's watching the doors open for the next platoon. The surprise on their faces is plain to see, and she barks sharply to get them moving. "Hurry! Get in!" There was a time shortly after her throat changed when they'd have hesitated, but she's taken the time to grind her new voice of command into their faces in training.

"Commander." The Lieutenant greets as he brings up the rear into the lift, saluting once he's clear of the doors.

"Okay, listen up! The Navigators are doing _something_ to make jumping around like those bastards do harder, but obviously not hard enough. Do not leave your backs to empty halls, stick to the walls like glue, shoot the moment you see something, and stay out of each other's line of fire, wouldn't want any of you trash to _be_ that something."

 **"SIR!"** The group response is sufficient, and she doesn't bother correcting them. She's seen subordinates fight that loosing battle before, and it just doesn't matter.

"You will spread out. You will cover the hallways and the crossings. Some of you will die, but make _damned_ sure you don't die with a cold gun. Shoot the bastard at least once first. Remember, your lives are The Emperor's currency."

 **"SPEND IT WELL!"**

"Don't let the xeno steal it! Make them pay! For The EMPEROR!"

 **"FOR THE EMPEROR!!!"** The returning shout is nearly deafening in the echo-chamber of the lift shaft.

"For House Winterscale!"

 **"For Winterscale!!!"** It's a shade less vehement this time, everyone careful _not_ to elevate him above the God-Emperor in their responses.

"DEATH TO THE XENOS!"

 **"KILL!!!"**

Something feels just a little off as they pass the halfway mark of their journey, but Alana can't quite put her finger on it. Probably just nerves about facing one of the eldar elites, the sort that give even some Astartes the runaround according to rumor.  
...  
...

"You have at least one elite headed your way." The news is deeply unwelcome, particularly now. Her soul feels thin and scorched, her lungs burn and one knee twinges with every movement, a lucky las-beam having struck the back, where the wraithbone is thinnest. It's cauterized, but the armor is just a little stuck, and her leg a little weaker. No condition for facing anyone more dangerous than the dross she's been clearing out of the mon-keigh's lower decks. The burnt blood coating the outside of her armor is undoubtedly attracting its own flavor of trouble as well, jumping into the warp while covered in the fresh blood of soldiers may as well ring a dinner bell for any flesh-hounds in the reverse of this system. There may be none, but everything else has already gone wrong.

"Can you… do something?"

"We are halfway to the command deck."

"I understand." Closing her eyes for a few precious moments, she rests a hand against her armor over her throat, taking solace in the spirit stone she can feel against her skin beneath the thick wraithbone plating. "I will give you a little more time… Kayrys?"

"Yes?"

"I want the third stanza of the poem of lost depths engraved on my wraithguard."

"I will see it done."

Forcing herself to stand up straight, grimacing behind her faceplate when her knee protests, she listens carefully for the sound of the distant lift. This will only work once, but if the mon-keigh are finally sending someone important it's now or never. Minutes pass while she focuses in her hiding place, the sounds of the injured and dying mon-keigh sounding near and far, but she pushes the sounds aside in the search for that distinctive note…

There, the sound of a shard of wraithbone scraping along the tracks of the door. "And now they die." Leaping through the warp, screaming defiance into the maelstrom on the other side for the brief moment she's there, she appears just as the doors are finishing their travel, just a little off to the side where she can sweep the interior of the lift with her death spinner. Tightly packed as they are, the mon-keigh have nowhere to evade, and the monowire fills the cage and turns it into a nightmare of blood and limbs.

As the monowire retracts though it hits a snag, the mechanism thrumming for a moment before cutting the spool loose and loading the next. Sparing her weapon a precious second to glance down, she looks back up to find one of the soldiers still standing, one arm raised to keep the monowire clear of their head, fist clenched defiantly while the other hand aims the unmistakable glowing barrel of a melta at her chest.

As she jumps away again, she's not certain how much of the pain is too many jumps, and how much is from that first shot, the white-hot beam grazing her breastplate just as she vanished… At least they're alone, but they won't be clumping up in the lifts like that anymore.

* * *

Letting her finger off the trigger as the gore-soaked eldar form vanishes back into the warp, Alana sags in place as she looks around. The pain hasn't really hit yet, the cuts too clean, but she can't feel her arm below the elbow "Damnation." Letting her melta dangle from the shoulder strap, and then cursing again when the shredded strap does nothing, she fumbles through her hip pouch with her good hand searching for something she can use.

The styptic powder is spilling out of the bottle when she finds it, the sealed canister having been cut in half, but it should still work. Pouring it into the rents in the elbow and wrist, she bites back a scream as it goes to work. Using her good hand to pull the armor into place, she carefully positions it and locks the abused armor in place where she can at least rest her melta on it to fire. "Captain." She calls on the vox, miraculously still functional. "They're waiting at the lift, order the troops to split up so they're not caught in tight groups."

"Noted. Are you injured?"

"Left arm is ground grox, going to need a new one… _Frack!_ One shot went through the whole platoon, still had enough to get through the armor joints." She chuckles darkly. "If this is how they fight with the Navis doing whatever they're doing, I'd hate to see them without it… sounds like someone else survived too, I'm going to send the lift back up, have medics waiting. Send the next platoon down stairways B-7 through B-13, I have an idea."

Careful to keep her boots from clanging against the deck, she makes her way out of the lift before reaching back to hit the panel, closing the doors and sending the lift on its way, muttering "Just hope my shot hurt them as much theirs hurt me." With the styptic making sure she doesn't bleed out, she still only has until her armor's battery runs out to finish this, or until she dies. Deep breaths hurt when her arm is moved a little, but she forces the pain away for the moment. Slow movements, careful steps, she's not sure exactly how good eldar hearing is, but she has to try.

This section of the ship isn't as familiar to her as she'd prefer, but remaining familiar with the entire vessel is beyond mortal means. The collar helps, but it's still been over a year since she toured this deck… Or was that the deck below? The layouts should be nearly identical, save that this one has extra plasma conduits aft of the broadsides. Hopefully the damned eldar stay out of that area, monofilament and melta weaponry would be suicide there.

* * *

Inspecting the damage to her armor, Giltys finds her heart clenching at the extent. If she hadn't been spinning to sweep her weapon across the entire lift, it would have punched straight through and turned her chest into hot gas. Several of the protective runes have been burned away, her breastplate reduced to a hair's thickness along a sweeping gash. Jumping out likely saved her life, but only luck kept her alive in the warp this time. She needs a bonesinger before she can trust it again.

Hoisting her death spinner again, she sets off toward where she knows one of the stairwells resides. The lift was an easy target, but they won't be using it again. Hopefully she guesses right about which one they pick. Her breathing sounds deafening in her helmet, and the scoured feeling in her soul is worse than ever. The limp from the shot to the knee earlier isn't getting any better either.

* * *

"Commander? I split my platoon across the stairwells you ordered. We're on deck eighty. The report brings a quiet sigh of relief, hopefully concealed by her helmet. "Understood. Stay spread out, advance by twos, keep your backs to the walls. Treat their weapon like a heavy flamer, stay separated. Post guards on the landings with their backs to the corners and come on down." She's not quite in position, and it's going to take a stroke of luck to get the right one, but at least the xenos scum won't be able to kill an entire platoon in less than a second this time. She picks up the pace as much as she can with her injuries, praying to The Emperor that she's in time.

It takes a few minutes for the troops to proceed carefully down from two decks above, which is the only reason she's in position before they breach the doors. A gilded relief of one of Winterscale's ancestors, she doesn't remember which one at the moment, provides a mirror for her to watch from hiding behind a stanchion.

It takes precious seconds to recognize what she's seeing, the golden haze of the material partially concealing the reality as a silvery mist seems to drift across the view. Then the soldiers in the open literally fall to pieces, while those who were in cover begin firing. Swinging out from behind the stanchion, her finger is already depressing the firing stud as she moves. Her bad arm doesn't help her aim, but it's at least close. The damned warp spider vanishes again before she can tell if she hit or not, but the gaping rent across the chest tells her she _did_ hit back at the lift. Grim vindication, a small victory at too high a cost, but the lessons learned there ensured only four losses this time.

* * *

It's with a scream of agony that Giltys reappears this time. Looking down she finds bloody steam rising from the rent in her armor, wisps of black vapor mixed in with the red. "Kayrys… Geists." With that she slides down the wall, struggling to stay conscious. Passing out here, dreaming with pain like this… there's danger in dreams here. "By the hundred blades, what have they done!?"  
...  
...  
...

"I don't like this." Alana growls as one of the medics inspects what's left of her arm. "An hour of hit and run, then they back off when I wing one of them? Where did they go? They're cowards, but not this kind of coward. There's something we're missing."

"Of course there is ma'am." The medic is clearly paying more attention to her arm than her words, but thinking aloud helps.

"Lieutenant!" She calls out to one nearby. "Get me all the information we have about our lost squads. Have someone organize a search of this deck, and get some cog-boys here." Something about the situation just feels like a trap. Too easy… Hellishly difficult, but still too easy. _What is she missing?_  
...  
...  
...

"Kayrys… Geists." Kayrys stops climbing when the message reaches her, closing her eyes and bowing her head for a moment in prayer. There's only one way Giltys could learned such a thing, and it spells trouble for the rest of them too. If predators like _that_ are this far from any planet, then the servants of the Annihilator can't be far behind. Clearing her mind again, she looks down the ladder below her at the rest of her surviving team. She may not have command training, but none of them does either and she's the one with a plan.

"Pick up the pace." There's not a sound from the well-disciplined soldiers. Despite climbing a half kilometer of ladders in heavy armor to avoid jumping, they're ready to press on. Her own limbs feel sluggish too but she follows her own orders to climb faster. Maintaining silence is more difficult now, but they are out of time.

Around them as they climb, the general quality of maintenance improves slightly, showing their approach to the decks that the mon-keigh care about. The bulkheads every hundred meters take much too long to cut through, and they're no longer opening for the lifts carrying troops down, but the alternative is too dangerous. They are trapped between the predators of the warp and the rapidly vanishing time they have before the mon-keigh realize Giltys was alone down there. She bought them a precious arc to get in position, it will have to be enough.

Another bulkhead and she sidles to the side, the metal grille forming what must be a maintenance walkway is conveniently placed for sabotage as well. Tenrys steps up and swaps the spool in his death-spinner for a plate cutting loop before starting to work. The weapon is whisper-quiet, but the bulkhead is not, and they wait with nervous tension as it's slowly sliced through. They're all the same thickness, and so it's trivial to predict how long it will take. Reaching out as he finishes, she catches one edge of the heavy slab of metal, along with Amgen on the other side. Carefully easing it down to avoid more noise, she's startled speechless when the slab clears the hole and the gap is immediately flooded with fire.

Adhesive burning material pours through to cover her and the rest of the team, obscuring vision and quickly heating up her armor. A curse comes over their communications channel as Tenrys falls backward, plummeting away toward the bulkhead a hundred meters below. With the gap opened wider the flames intensify, and they all reflexively jump straight up despite knowing the warp is in a turbulent state.

Appearing around a small group of mon-keigh armed with their heavy flamers, they leap farther away even as the soul-scouring burns at their minds. A death-spinner shreds the fuel canisters at the same time as the humans holding the weapons, and there's a tremendous roar as pressurized fuel meets air as a fine spray. A cry of pain is nearly lost in the noise, and as the flames roar on and on it rises in pitch, finally culminating in a suit of warp-spider armor stumbling out of the inferno and falling to its knees, masses of fuel still stuck here and there, continuing to roast the occupant.

Scrambling to free them from the unbearably hot armor, Kayrys burns her own fingers before finally getting the latches undone. What's beneath is the badly wounded form of Tenrys, having apparently jumped out of his fall and directly into the middle of the conflagration. "I think…" He groans, then whimpers a bit as the movement further cracks charred skin. "They know we're here."

"I concur. We cannot continue using this shaft, they will ambush us again."

"How many decks to the bridge?"

"I do not know."

* * *

"We've lost contact with the flamer team on forty Sir."

"Their sacrifice will be remembered." Alana bows her head to a nearby relief of the Aquila. "I don't think they will stay in the lift shaft now. Storm decks fifteen through twenty five. Do not let them get the lay of the land. Anti-flamer formations, don't let them get more than one of ours at a time."

"Aye Aye!"

As her troops sprint away to follow her orders, Alana finally allows herself to relax just a little. "Good." The medicae attending her says in a tone suggesting irritation. "Now may I begin?"

"Yes." The injector that takes her in the neck strikes just above the top of the armored bodysuit that resides beneath her armor, depositing some concoction that has her fading out in seconds. "I thought… the collars…"

"Eta Six Two Three gave us her recipe before we parted."

"Ohhh…" Blackness mercifully separates her from the pain in her arm.

"Excellent." With his patient unconscious, he can begin working on her shoulder joint. Some of the wires from that damned xenos weapon somehow managed to follow the marrow of her humerus all the way up and shred the ball. How she managed to function at all with the amount of pain that should have caused… He shakes his head and continues carefully cutting away the ruined tissue. The arm he intends to fit is hardly ideal, but at least it's the correct length for her body.  
...  
...  
...

"You hear th' commander's out?"

"Only a dozen times idiot. Cogboys have her, she'll be fine, worry about your own sorry ass." Sgt Cottering growls. "Your flappin mout' gets someone killed, I'll make sure you join em." Taking a long draw off his lho-stub, he returns his attention to the corridor his squad is covering, checking their sightlines and distances again, making sure they're staying far enough apart. The damned xenos are supposed to be on this deck, and even if they were headed the other direction at last word, _this_ is the direction they need to go to reach the bridge without taking the lift.

Farther down the hall, where he can't actually make them out from here, he knows the Lt has the whole platoon's worth of designated marksmen, overloaded hotshots slotted into their long-las rifles over the objections of the cogs. Who cares if the rifle's going to burn out after fifty shots like that, if you're only going to get a handful before either winning or dying.

Every slight sound is magnified by the tension, ears straining to hear the slightest noise against the background of the blessed plasma reactors at the ship's heart. Some sort of machine in the walls keeps making a light tapping sound every couple minutes, and he finds himself aiming at that wall section every time, along with half the squad. He's not sure what it is, but the cogs won't turn it off, something about washing air? A little stank seems like a small price for better awareness of their battlefield, but what does he know. At least they're willing to put their thrones with their words, a couple techpriests running around with fraking lascannons as part of the hunting parties.

"Corridor seven, they're-" The signal cuts off there, but it's enough, and one of the hunting parties runs past in that direction moments later, their fleet issue boots pounding a familiar rhythm into the deck plates, the tech-priest bringing up the rear clattering more metallically. "Emperor guide your aim." He calls to them, continuing to watch his assigned corridor.

The words register peripherally with Chi-703. Lacking the pattern of an order, the voiceprint of a superior, or a failure to match known sounds aboard the ship, the machine spirits residing in their ears categorize it under 'friendly encouragement' and store it for later, merely incrementing a counter in their vision. Ahead the sounds of death-spinners show as zones of probability, estimates of where the discharges are occurring. Not a threat-profile they ever expected to use, but they're finding it quite useful today.

As the fire team approaches the next corner, Chi takes a chance and fires through the corner of the bulkhead. It's thin here, merely a storage closet at a convenient location, and the las-cannon tears right through both wall sections before finding something sturdier. Return-scatter analysis of the beam shows they hit _something_ not made of plassteel before any of them actually round the corner, but doesn't save the riflemen at the front from running facefirst into a cloud of monofilament.

The blood spray covers the lead elements of the team, but enough of the affected cone is visible to calculate the origin point, and another las-cannon shot bores through the wall where the shooter has to be standing. Then a grey mist flickers across their optics followed by a long stream of error messages, systems flashing red and black to indicate damage or total loss of connection. A surge of power fries still more systems, frantic backtracking traces it to the backpack power pack for the portable lascannon, and then the rest of their systems shut down as the damage becomes catastrophic.

* * *

"I despise these machine worshipers, trying to be necrons." Amgen mutters, kicking the severed head of the mon-keigh down the corridor in retaliation for the deaths of two more of their number.

"Giltys was amazing, but they can absorb their losses better than we can." Kayrys places a hand on his shoulder and pulls him back from the corner of the two passageways. Around them the bodies, or pieces thereof, of the mon-keigh who stood guard here lay bleeding on the decking, making the surface slick with the gore almost ankle deep in places. The blood is flowing away, but everything else stays put, and she's grateful for the air filters in her armor yet again. "We have to keep moving. There's only one way out. We reach it or die trying. Now grab their spirit stones and _get moving_." 

Turning to carry out her own instructions, Kayrys offers up a brief prayer for lost soldiers. Three on the first jump, including their exarch, Giltys in a blaze of glory, Tenrys to a flaming ambush, now Alomar and Khelmela to some be-tentacled mechanical monster. At least it's dead now, along with another crowd of mon-keigh

* * *

Are you still functionalcognitive? Power returns to their world, even if no motion controls are accessible in this state.

Confirm.marginal

System assessment?abbreviated

Power Critical, nutrient supply critical.

Reportcombat events

Two hits confirmed by back-scatterspectral analysis. One enemy or two, unknown.

Advice?

Heavier armor, no gaps.

No kataphrons available.

* * *

Thrashing wildly against the Empyrean is possibly the easiest thing for any Navigator to learn, for the same reason a small child slaps their arms in the bath, they learn to make a ruckus by the time they're weaned. Everything else takes skill to accomplish, and even this takes skill to do _well_ and _efficiently_.

Pausing in her actions, Kirstin leans back in her seat and begins greedily chugging water from a canteen, the neck clicking against her extended fangs and the sweat of the last hours soaking her robes. As she does Anje takes over at the end of her break, dredging up the energy to continue. "When we return…" She pants, the canteen now empty, "I'm asking Liebrecht for lessons. I don't know how he does this."

"Agreed." Jenshin sounds just as exhausted as she feels, and she spends a moment longing to curl up in bed with her for approximately a week. Instead she brings her breathing under control and does her best to recover her endurance. She will need to rejoin the effort soon enough.

"At least… It's working." She offers, the forced optimism bringing a fond, if exhausted, smile to her lips. She remembers when they first wed, she so far from home, he, at the time, in the midst of so much loss. Both expected to wed at first meeting. His forced optimism carried them both through those first days, and she returns the favor when she can.

As she rests, Kirstin looks down at the result of their combined efforts, the Warp churning around them, twisting and snapping with furious power. The thought of trying to navigate _that_ makes her shudder a little, but even while resting she can act as a lookout. The unaspected predators are expected, even the lesser daemons swimming through the storm, but if something larger takes an interest they'll have to stop.

While she's watching a pair of hideously pink forms rip apart an ebon geist before using its severed limbs as dildos, spinning around each other while fisting each other by proxy. Normally she'd stop watching, or reach out to slap them with the ship's warp vanes if in the Empyrean, but this time she just hardens her heart, pulling the Emperor's fury around herself like a blanket and shielding her mind in hatred for the monsters. It works to drive away the niggling interest, the severed limbs are just disgusting, and she'd rather lay with her Jenshin, or Tristain… Or both.

Looking past them, she can just make out the distorted form of the Ravenous Glare, outlined by the hundreds of holy statues and shrines that dot the ship, where the faith of Mankind concentrates.

Unfortunately she can see nothing of the Xenos boarders, something about them hiding the power of their cursed souls.

After ten minutes of recovery as a lookout, Kirstin throws the weight of her soul against the Empyrean again, drawing back and hammering again and again while Farrah has a break. The barely abated exhaustion seems to return immediately, and any more contemplation will have to wait.

* * *

The path forward, the only path left, she can see it closing before her as the mon-keigh converge on what's left of her squad, her family moreso than even her actual parents. They've shared the same Path for years, fought together, bled together, and now died together. Her discipline is beginning to crack, but she can't, not here, not now, not with this _DAMNED_ warp storm the foolish mon-keigh have called up.

Her mind spins trying to find another way out, a way to preserve what little she has left. But it always comes back around to the same place. They can't leave without a ship, the ship can't leave with the mon-keigh guns trained on it. Perhaps if they'd brought Fire Dragons they could have gone after the guns themselves, but death-spinners can't do enough damage to structures so large. The one place, the only place, they can go to free the Dances Across All Time is the mon-keigh bridge. Again and again she comes to the same conclusion as despair tries its level best to worm its way through the cracks in her self discipline.

"We won't be leaving, will we?" the words disturb her thoughts, and she turns to one of her few remaining companions, simply staring at him through her helm. "Even if we reach the bridge, they can fire again before we get there."

"...No, but we can die a death to make Lhykosidae proud." Setting her feet moving again after the brief interruption, she leads on, trying to escape the closing noose, even if only just long enough to slit the ship's throat.

"We approach the center of this storm as we do the bridge Kayrys. Whatever causes it may be there."

"Yes?"

"One jump, down the dragon's throat to cut out its heart." Her feet stop moving at Amgen's words. There's almost no chance any of them will survive the jump, but almost none is still better than none. "You are truly mad." she whispers, almost in awe of his insane brilliance.

"Everything that lives is at its most dangerous-"

"-when it has nothing remaining to lose." Taphesa finishes his quote. "He's right Kayrys."

"That he is. Esavor?" The last remaining member of their squad nods his agreement.

"Lhykosidae would be proud."

" _He_ would survive this mad plan. Circle around, join runes. Three, two, one, _jump_."

* * *

Few sounds aboard an Imperial vessel are capable of making every crew member pay immediate attention. The Warp Incursion alarm, more commonly known as the Gellar Alarm, easily makes the top of that list. Armsmen with lasrifles trained on corridors reflexively duck and look around, menials dive for the nearest cover, clergy drop everything to pray with all their might, and engineers are halfway to the gellar generators before the fact that they're still in realspace manages to interrupt the emergency procedure training.

In a maintenance bay next to the deck twenty medicae, Chi-704 looks up from their work on their creche-mate's head, searching the displays available to them for any indication of where the problem is. Finding nothing, they take a few moments to finish hooking up the nutrient feeds and power connections to preserve the brain before grabbing their own preferred weapons and leaving the room with a distance-devouring pace, canting blessings over the well-maintained twin lasrifle. 703's arguments in favor of penetration over rate of fire will undoubtedly feature today prominently in the future, but their portable lascannon will need a great deal of maintenance before it fires again.

In the deck sixty medicae Alana stirrs at the loud noise, recognizable to even her drugged mind as _extremely important_. Her left arm is cold… so incredibly cold, but at least it doesn't hurt anymore. Moving to sit up, she barely moves before being brought up short by a heavy-duty strap across her chest. "What?" Trying to feel out what's holding her down, she discovers that her left arm is even less responsive than before, not moving at all despite her best efforts. Opening her eyes and turning her head, her gaze lands on what's _left_ of her shoulder, and the thick plassteel plate currently being bolted to her side.

"Stop moving."

"Wha-" Another needle jabs her neck, and the world goes dark again.

"Even _with_ Eta's formulation, your body clears the anesthetic far too quickly for your own good Commander." The surgeon comments to her once-again unconscious body, continuing to fit the hair-thin nerve connectors for her new augmentic. "You always were stubborn, and it hasn't gotten any better."

On patrol amidships, near the deck seven observation lounge, Old Krenat breaks into a sprint almost the moment the alarm sounds. His flamer was already in hand, with fuel on his back, as he assisted with hunting the damned xenos. Now they might just be even _more_ damned than usual, and it's still his duty to help the rest of the crew deal with them. A few seconds later he watches his apprentice tear past him at a pace he hasn't been able to match in at least a decade. "BOY!"

"Sir?" The young man barely slows down.

"Don't get killed up there Tobias. GO!" With that instruction the kid takes off again, leaving the old twistcatcher in the dust. The energy of youth and the confidence born of a victory under his belt during the last incursion lend power to his strides, and it's with a prayer to the Emperor on his lips that he passes up a similarly sprinting squad of armsmen in bulkier armor. Behind him he can hear their sergeant bellowing at them not to let him show them up, and just keeps praying with what breath he can spare. The lifts are locked down after the xenos got caught in them, but he remembers where every staircase is as a result of taunting his master. Bursting into one of the smaller ones, he's brought up short by a lasrifle right under his chin, and spends a precious few seconds trading a wide-eyed look with the armsman guarding the landing, each at the point of the other's weapon.

"Burn those xenos kid." the armsman moves his weapon and backs out of the way, having stayed the reflex to fire.

"For the Emperor!" Taking the stairs three at a time, praying with every panting breath, his heart feels about to burst as he reaches the top. A half-k dash followed by sprinting up seven decks of stairs is just a little more intense than his normal training. And yet somehow the urge to collapse to his hands and knees isn't there, only a blazing fury he deliberately fans higher.

With a guard at every landing, he's a bit surprised there isn't one here, but ignoring that for the moment he opens the door onto the command deck. And with that he opens the door to hell.

The scene on the other side is something out of his nightmares, the ones he had after that first gellar flicker where he was called on to do his duty. The light is hazy and discolored, like a bruise on the very nature of reality. Half-seen _things_ seem to be both there and not there, teasing at the senses in ways that both entice and disgust. Looking around, barely remembering his training to maintain that shield of fury and hatred, he notes a guard standing stock still as a vaguely familiar pink thing caresses him, tongue wrapping around his throat and slithering along his ear.

Taking two steps and winding up on the third, he delivers a solid punt to the guard's testicles, and then pulls the trigger as he falls over, catching the… _thing_ full in the face with holy promethium, freshly blessed by the priest only a day past. It screams in pain and ecstasy as it burns, the cries disturbing and revolting as they are sensuous, and he takes one hand off the flamer, draws a deep breath, and cringes as he follows his master's advice.

Collapsing to the deck next to the guard, he's glad there only seems to have been one of those things right here, since he's in no condition to fight after punching his own balls. The pink thing keeps burning and screaming and… "Emperor grant me your hatred, that I might stand furious against your foes." He squeaks, struggling back to his feet. Looking back down he finally notices the mutations spread across the front of the guard he tried to rescue. The literal handful of cocks at the end of his arm, a dripping slit replacing his mouth and nose. "Uggh- Emperor take your soul." Leveling his flamer, he delivers the Emperor's Mercy. There's nothing else he can do.

"The Emperor is my ward, and His vigilance is without rest..." He falters slightly in the recitation, as he spots the corpse of another horribly misshapen armsman wrapped around a pipe, dousing it with some more holy promethium. "The Emperor's light is without limit and without mercy. The xenos and the mutant are as ash before its glory. I walk in faith-" *FWOOOOOSH!* "-AAAGHHH!" His finger isn't quite fast enough, and a pincer takes a big chunk out of his bicep even as the… _thing_ burns. He'd give anything to have his master with him, but the old man is just too slow right now. The Psalm of Blessed Intolerance resumes falling from his lips as he struggles to bandage his arm. Twenty meters from the door and he's already suffered a major injury. "and righteousness, and the heretic burns in my sight! The Emperor is with me! His- _Graahgh._ -" Tying the bandage tight hurt so much. "-light is with me! His judgment is upon you!"

Panting in the sickly-sweet air, he clambers awkwardly back to his feet and kicks the dissipating corpse of the thing that maimed him. He can't quite heft his flamer correctly anymore, but he can point it in the right general direction. Heart pounding, mind filled with hatred, voice canting the same psalm again and again to focus that hatred and rage, he presses on. He wants to run away, he wants it so much, but he remembers his lessons. From this enemy there is no retreat, not on a ship. If he runs, he's still dead, it'll just hurt more later. "The Emperor's light is without limit and-"

* * *

When he finally reaches the top of the stairs, old Krenat can only stare for a moment at the devastation before smiling and following the trail of fire. "Boy, you make me proud." A low whistle from one of the guards he dragged along sounds like agreement. "Let's go give my apprentice some backup before he gets himself killed."

"It'd be a glorious death."

"Be a better start to a glorious career. Now _MOVE!_ " Only a couple of them have weapons he'd trust against anything from the Warp, lasguns'll sting but that's about it. One plasma rifle, a chainsword with teeth forged from the hull of a wrecked ship built on Holy Terra, and that's about it. The sword he's a bit concerned about though. "How's your swordsmanship compare to your pa's Tholt?"

"Not nearly that good."

"'S what I was afraid of. We'll make do. For the Emperor!... I really miss being able to _charge_ after yelling that." At least he can still take long strides, eating up the distance from one blazing corpse to the next. The holy promethium pushes back the incursion in little bubbles around where it's burning, but it's a dangerous safety. Close enough to be safe from the warp-light is also close enough to burn. With stronger blessings maybe not.

"Old-" There's a wet cough from one of the intersecting corridors. "Old man." Turning to look, he finds what he hoped he wouldn't. Tobias is collapsed against the wall, only a couple paces down the corridor, missing an arm and a leg. The stumps are cauterized, and he looks delirious. From the pain? From the warp? It's impossible to say just yet.

"M'tank ran ou-"

"Not your fault. You did good. You two, stay with him." He hates keeping the good weapons with him, but he can't afford to lose them, not even for his apprentice. "Get him out of this shit." He'd never normally be able to pull rank on them like this, but dealing with warp incursions on the ship is his job, even if it's normally just mutant hunting. "The rest, stay with me." The sharp twinge in his knee when he stands again is another reminder that he's too old for this shit. "Come on, he cleared the road for us, time to go."

Moving past where the boy managed to clear, the going immediately gets harder. The very next crossing sees an ambush from a trio of flesh hounds, and he has only instants to be glad the boy didn't get this far. The roar of a chainsword drowns out all other sounds for a moment, and his flamer pours promethium right down the throat of another, but to his left there's the horrendous scream and wet ripping sound of a man having a limb torn away. By the time the hound ahead of him is properly aflame, looking to see the status of the armsman finds him dead, and the hound missing a head with the steaming barrel of a plasma rifle still trained on the corpse. "Tergson, good shot."

"Not fast enough."

"Nothing you can do about it now. Don't hate yourself, hate the Enemy. Move." Stepping around the crackling corpse of his own kill, he resumes the lead position. Not strictly regulation for the leader of a unit, but he's the one with the blessed flamer and the armor full of minor talismans.  
...  
...  
...

By the time they approach the bridge, it's down to just him, Tholt, and a fresh-faced armsman who picked up the plasma gun when Tergson spent it. Kid's a nervous wreck, but his reflexes are lightning. Might take another apprentice with Tobias in the medicae for however long.

The guards stationed outside the bridge are nowhere to be seen, though the armored bulkhead doors torn _outward_ probably have something to do with that. Inside is a scene out of some retelling of a crusade. Figures in Eldar armor are broken and cast aside, embedded in some of the consoles. The command throne is a smoldering ruin, the stairs to the navigator's spire are gone, and down in the main crew pit there's a figure out of his worst nightmares… caught halfway through the warp-rift currently dominating the bridge while it slowly closes. The navigators are glaring at it, and there's a sense of immeasurable weight bearing down on everything in the room. The other five 'special assets' for the mission are also alive and unmutated, despite the nearly unrecognizable bodies of the rest of the bridge crew smeared and bubbling across the deck. Bolt-rifles are braced against the railings, aimed at the slowly shrinking rift while the navigators work.

"What _happened_!?"

"Warp spiders tried to jump onto the bridge. That thing managed to hitch a lift."

"What _is_ it?"

"If I tell you, the Inquisition will have you executed the moment you retire from Winterscale's service."

"I'll remain ignorant… So why are the daemons still wandering around leaving you alone in here?"

"Because two of us are trained to act as living gellar generators."

"As one of the senior twistcatchers-" He leans against one of the warped consoles, carefully avoiding the crewmember melted across the controls. "-I would have appreciated knowing about that a year ago."

"Need to know, and you didn't. You're not protected from farseers."

He grumbles discontentedly, but doesn't have a counterpoint, instead turning to the two armsmen he has left. "Come on you two, we still have work to do."

* * *

"-ps waking up even with the sedatives, so it should only be a few moments… Ah, ###Miss Coltor, you're awake."

Even with the rapidly-clearing fog still heavy on her mind, Alana has enough awareness to issue a sharp " _Commander_ Coltor to you." to the chiurgeon. The way they, or their compatriot, unilaterally put her out for surgery still rather fresh in her groggy mind.

"Not while you are under ##my care, in ##my medicae." She just groans at that retort, mostly because she's heard it before.

"I wish you were still just a commander." The voice is familiar, but hoarse as though she's been crying, or screaming.

"Cora?" She asks, recognizing Voidmaster Berth's daughter. Opening her eyes, she looks over and finds her with bloodshot eyes and tear tracks.

" _Captain_ Coltor, Alana. The Eldar… There was a warp rift on the bridge. Captain Dobesh didn't make it."

"Anton?" She's third in line, surely- The girl just shakes her head, sucking in a long, sniffly, breath through her nose, clearly struggling not to cry.

"Just the eleven of us." She reaches up and clutches her collar, band digging into her neck slightly when she grips it tightly. "The daemons killed the eldar first, gave the navs a chance, but the rest of the bridge crew-" She clenches her eyes shut, then snaps them open again to avoid whatever images she sees when they're closed. It's a gesture Alana is all too familiar with, the horrors of war leave a mark when they happen that close to you, something that rarely happens to the bridge crew of a starship. "They mutated so fast, like they were melting into their consoles. Dad-"

"I've seen that happen, you don't need to explain." Adopting a pained smile, she reaches out to offer a comforting hand, only for the still-frigid limb to finally enter her field of view. "What is this?" The plassteel plate covering the remains of her shoulder is a hazy memory, probably all the medication, but the arm attached to it is the sort of hard-edged bulky monstrosity she'd expect to find on one of the lighter servitors. The hand has only three blocky fingers, mutually opposed, and with a cluster of lenses where she'd expect the palm. Trying to flex her fingers, she finds that her pinky seems to control the lens cover now, and the ring finger produces only a feeling of emptiness.

"What I had in your ##size. When we return to port I can replace it with another. Or you might find you enjoy having a ##lasgun in your forearm. No las-pack for the moment, I didn't want you twitching in your sleep and shooting a hole in my instruments."

"I'll need to have words with the quarterm-"

"###We left port fully stocked. It has been an ####unfortunate tour for left arms, and you no longer accept the most common size."

Frowning, Alana swings her legs off the side of the bed and sits up, reaching out with her right arm this time to comfort Cora, wordlessly dismissing the irritating chiurgeon. Smug Mechanicus are intolerable, and an old friend's child needs comforting. The thought of 'comforting' her another way is ruthlessly suppressed. "Of the two of you, he'd prefer you be the survivor." A soft snort. "Remember, he was worried the collar would kill you, and wanted to take the risk for himself? Instead it saved you."

The sudden hug is a major breach of decorum, but neither of them is on duty at the moment. Instead of issuing a reprimand, she returns the embrace, awkwardly trying to figure out what to do with her left arm. A half-hug isn't nearly as good, but digging sharp edges into her back won't help either. As for herself, the loss of more old friends is always hard, but they're not the first, and their lives were well-spent in His service.

We'll bury our dead with honors, star-burial of course, they wouldn't want their corruption spreading.

* * *

"Well well well. You and your friends certainly wrought havoc." The deep voice speaking is awkward and mechanical, but when Giltys tries to look at the source she finds her eyes bound shut. Thick bands of something encircle her limbs with only narrow gaps between them, holding her spread against an uncomfortably hard and cold surface. Still more press against her belly, chest, and throat. "Something they did opened a warp-rift on _my_ ship."

"Impossible." The aspect armor bears countless runes specifically to prevent the sorts of catastrophes common to mon-keigh warp drives. Protections that haven't failed in millenia.

"Very possible, but I don't expect you to know, or indeed believe, what they did after I shot you. You were found unconscious in a storage closet, claw marks from an Ebon Geist gouged out of your chest." The memory of how that happened is still very sharp. She remembers vividly the searing pain of the melta, followed by the equally searing pain of the geist clawing at her very soul.

"You remember, good. Here's how this is going to work. I'm going to ask questions, you're going to answer, or we break your friends spirit stones. Do you understand?"

Her heart seems to leap and sink at the same time. Their spirit stones are safe, but only for the moment. "Even the Mon-keigh wouldn't sink that low, offering sacrifices to She Who Thirsts. Those who would, would do it whether I answer or not."

"Wrong God."

"...Better they go to your crippled emperor than She Who Thirsts." She's bluffing, but she prays to the Laughing God for an unreadable mask. This Mon-Keigh can't know that she'd actually fold before he broke the first stone. If he moves her that way once, he won't hesitate to do it again. She'd be his slave forever if she starts down that path. They've tried once already to reclaim stolen stones from this ship, only to meet unmitigated disaster. Another attempt will happen, must happen, but gathering a force capable of dealing with this ghost-ship will take too long.

It would help if she could see him, or hear more than the voice of one of their machines, but even her ears betray the presence of no one else in whatever room they have her in.

Nearly a kilometer away, Alana sits at a conference table, watching the xenos on a holoscreen. Around her are what's left of the senior staff, the few who were elsewhere on the ship when the command deck was briefly swallowed by the Warp, along with a bevy of battlefield promotions. Raising a hand toward the tech-priest standing by, she adds "I will allow you some time to think better of your defiance."

The tech-priest's translation sounds strangely flowing, uncomfortable even, with odd silences where his mouth still moves, as the words rise above or dip below even her enhanced hearing range. Once he's finished, she carefully watches the screen for the xeno's response, then turns to the conference table when none is forthcoming.

"It looks like everyone is here, good. We lost a number of command staff, and I'm certain most of you didn't expect to reach this rank for several more years. I trust you've had time to at least take stock of our condition? Engines, go."

"Very little damage ##fortunately. Seventy three gellar relays ##Require repair, the attached icons were deliberately damaged by the xenos, presumably because they interfered with their ###warp devices. Supplies are sufficient to carry out the repairs, and we have sufficient personnel.

"Weapons?" Her once second in command, Jr. Cmdr Garssener, is now the Master of Guns.

"Still ready to fire. Small arms are slightly depleted, three hundred and eighty one lasguns were damaged by monowire weaponry, one hundred and four irreparably. One manpack lascannon was destroyed, a fair trade for two of the xenos. I'd like to recommend Chi seven oh three for the Marksman's Star and the Cracked Scale. I would also like to recommend the former holder of my station for the same."

Alana gives him a level look when he recommends her for the awards. "You know Winterscale limits copies of the same award to three."

"You can still get one more Cracked Scale Captain."

**Author's Note:**

> Comments, discussion, and even criticism are welcome. (so long as the criticism is constructive, otherwise it's just complaining.)  
> Remember, reader interaction feeds the muse! :)


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